


In This Room

by ArtsyAfrodite



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Depression, Drug Use, Gallavich, Gallavich AU, M/M, Multi, Other, Sexual Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:02:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 92,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyAfrodite/pseuds/ArtsyAfrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich and Ian Gallagher meet at New York University.  They are 17/18, respectively.  They come from different parts of Chicago, with different upbringings, but soon discover as roommates that their past hurts and inner demons make them more similar than they realize.  A story of healing old wounds and true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Exception

**Author's Note:**

> So here is Part 1 of my first Gallavich fan fic. It's a remake of a story I wrote back in 2007, and was tapered to fit Ian and Mickey. A lot was changed and removed. The story is not really canon, but the characters are the same, with some new additions of my own. There will be, however, some scenes from the show referenced throughout. I hope you guys enjoy!

 

_In the middle of most nights, he would hide under his bed and curl up in a fetal position, closing his eyes tight while holding his legs close to his chest. This night, the young boy did the same. The darkness behind his eyelids offered him a welcome and he was surprised he hadn’t worn it out by now. He knew the Shadow Man would be coming soon. He always came in the night, the ghostly figure towering, hovering, tormenting, hurting. “Maybe he won’t find me this time," he thought, but he knew better. Clutching his legs as if they would develop a life of their own and abandon him, the young boy interlocked his fingers and began breathing in a short, erratic pattern - a frail attempt to be as silent as possible._

_A couple of times he hid in the closet, but the Shadow Man almost always found him there within thirty seconds. “Too fast," he thought to himself. “I won’t hide in there anymore." Once he hid himself in his toy chest, and it took the shadowed menace almost half an hour to locate him, but that was when he was small enough to fit into the wooden case. He was only six then. That’s when it all started, the night terrors. Now, at the age of nine, he was too big to fit in his toy chest. As the child laid there, stoic underneath his G.I. Joe blanket, he would imagine himself transforming into a tiny mouse, crawling away in a hole somewhere, inconspicuous and unable to be found. He would also imagine turning into a bird then flying to a land far away, or suddenly becoming invisible. His mind was his escape. He was safe there, locked in his imagination, but this night, like all other nights, he would be abruptly jolted out of his private, little utopia. “Almost time," he said to himself._

_A few minutes later, he heard those footsteps he knew all too well, eerie, slow and heavy, muffled by the carpet, yet still resonating loudly. It was always in the thick of the night, always, and he was beginning to hate the moon for being a constant reminder that this was the time he’d lose himself. The door slowly crept open and a tiny stream of light coming from the hallway landed directly on his face. The Shadow Man was there, standing beside his bed now. “I know you’re there," he said. His voice was deep and daunting, like a demon. The young boy used every fiber in his fragile body to try and keep from crying, but he couldn’t help it; the tears came bursting from his blue eyes along with a tiny, but audible whimper._

_"Don’t cry," the Shadow Man mockingly whispered, but like always, he did._

***************

 

 

Nine years later…

"Ay! Shit Head! You okay?" Mandy screeched at the sleeping pile of black hair and pale skin next to her.

Mickey lifted his head off of the car window and looked at his little sister, although not so little anymore. Mandy was almost seventeen now, and driving. She looked at him through black bangs and blue eyes lined with mascara too thick, and Mickey suddenly thought her eyes were older than her, not from the makeup, but from having seen things that added years and coldness. Apparently he had fallen asleep while in transit.

"I'm fine," Mickey answered groggily, his eyebrows fixed in a frown. “Why you askin’?" And fuck all, it had better been good because anyone that knew Mickey knew waking him up meant hell to pay. It was never spoken - simply understood.

"I mean, you were whimpering again," Mandy replied. “You kept saying, _'no, no, no'_ while you were asleep. You’ve been doing it all week. I hear you in the middle of the night at home and it’s weird."

"The fuck do you mean I was whimpering, again?" Mickey said suddenly defensive. “I don’t fucking whimper."

Shit. Mickey was having bad dreams again.  He knew his sister was probably right, but she didn’t need to know that.

"Well you’ve been doing that shit all week. Not my fault, so don’t bite my head off ass wipe."

"Whatever. Just fucking drive without getting us killed," Mickey mumbled.

His sister was lucky he even let her get behind the wheel. She had her license all of two weeks, and it took her three times to pass her road test. He must want to die.

"Fuck you!" Mandy snapped. “I’m a wicked driver. You’re lucky I even volunteered to drive your ass to the airport. Dad would’ve made you take the shitty Southside transportation systems."

Dad. A name Mickey wasn’t too fond of and a designation that never seemed to match the man’s actions. Terry was a shitty father, and his intentions always screamed and scratched hatred into all three layers of Mickey’s skin. The black haired boy just scoffed, but Mandy was right.

"Whatever," Mickey answered shortly.

Behind his short answer was a half, hidden smile he was fighting back, because whether or not he would admit it, Mickey was glad it was his sister and no one else from the fucked up Milkovich family that was taking him to the airport - taking him to the start of a new life.

Mickey Milkovich was on his way to the Chicago airport to leave for New York City to start his first semester at New York University. Now eighteen, Mickey couldn’t believe he made it through four years of Chicago’s Southside public high school system, let alone even lived to see eighteen - his household alone was a promise that life would either be cut short or as fucked up as possible. He was from the Milkovich clan, and statistics said he should have either been in prison, or a high school dropout by now. A waste of space. A menace to society. Even dead. Mickey was the exception, and although he was no angel, school was something he happened to be good at, which always shocked his teachers given his family tree.

Mickey was a prodigy, a scientific whiz kid, and nobody’s bitch. His knuckles, decorated with the tattoo _'FUCK U-UP,'_ one letter strategically placed on each finger, were no strangers to busted lips and broken noses, the black ink a not-so-subtle reminder that he was as much of a thug as we was a genius. He was sometimes an educated dumbass, given some of the decisions he’d made - hence the drunken night neither him nor his brothers remember, resulting in knuckle tattoos and Mickey wearing gloves for three weeks in the middle of summer. Mickey always told himself when he finally became a rich Scientist he would maybe have the tattoo removed - maybe.

Sometimes Mickey didn’t know how he made it this far, until his sister Mandy would smile or scream profanities at him, her black hair and ice blue eyes mirroring his own. It was because of her. Out of seven Milkovich children, Mandy, in Mickey’s eyes turned out the best, even better than him. Sure, she was a bad ass bitch who took no kind of shit from anyone, and sure she wasn’t good in school like Mickey, but her heart was bigger and warmer than anyone he knew. She was nothing like their junkie mother who overdosed years earlier, and she certainly was far from their father, who prided himself more on how many bones he broke within the week, rather than his daughter learning to ride a bicycle, or the “A" on the math test his son brought home.

One of Terry’s favorite pastimes was using Mickey’s face as a punching bag. When Mickey began openly talking about the night terrors, his body was added. Mandy always held the tissue under Mickey’s bloody noses, or gently pressed the ice packs into his blackened eyes, the cold sting of the ice a reminder to Mickey that he would get the fuck out of the Southside first chance he got. She was his saving grace, and because Mickey was no good with emotions and all that shit, he would never admit out loud how much he loved her, but the proof was in his eyes, or when he would let her have the last pizza roll, and how he always gave her piggy back rides despite objecting her requests. He never had to say it, but Mandy knew.

"Ok, we’re here!" Mandy yelped excitedly. She pulled up to the area for “Departures," and came to a screeching halt, causing the tires on the piece of crap Chevy Impala to skid loudly. The park was young, rushed and obnoxious, a dead giveaway that Mandy was a new (and reckless) driver. Mickey then realized he was more excited to be placing his boots on solid ground, than actually arriving at the airport.

"We’re alive," Mickey said through a smirk, and Mandy responded with a loud _'whack!'_ to the back of his head, causing his brain to ricochet off the walls of his skull.

Mickey always said, you don’t know his sister until you’ve fought his sister, and the skinny bitch was strong.

"Ow! What the fuck!" Mickey screeched.

"How about show some fucking gratitude you ungrateful jerk," she said through a satisfied smile.

Mickey looked at his sister and laughed. Gratitude? That word wasn’t in the Milkovich vocabulary.

Then in the midst of his amusement, a sudden sadness gripped at the tail of his laughter and yanked so hard, Mickey could feel it being ripped out of his vocal cords. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he was up against a wall with nowhere to take cover. He was leaving, and Mandy would still be here, stuck in the quicksand of the Southside, only to be swallowed whole - and he wouldn’t be here to protect her. He wouldn’t be able to shield her from Terry. And as quickly as he was ready to leave, he was ready to say fuck NYC, and stay with his sister. If nothing else, she was the one thing he could live for. Mandy must have caught a glimpse of the melancholy and quickly interrupted the sad moment with her sarcasm. It was always their secret superhero.

"Help you with your bags fuckhead? You know I’ve always been the muscle between us." A small smile tugged at the corner of Mickey’s mouth.

"Nah, I’m good," Mickey responded. And he was. He was going to New York with next to nothing, an extension of his Milkovich upbringing.

"Well, are you sure you don’t want me to wait in the airport with you until you board your flight?" Mandy asked almost pleadingly.

"No Mands. I’m fine alone." He had to be. Mickey hated goodbyes, and although this was more like a _'see you later'_  he couldn’t help but feel the sting of leaving the one reason to his unfounded existence.

"Call me when you land?" she asked, the maturity in her eyes suddenly reverting to something almost childlike.

"Yea."

Mickey went around to the trunk of the Impala, and took out his life, packed tight in one large suitcase, and two duffle bags. He looked at his sister, who stood looking as if she was contemplating whether or not she should ask him for a hug. Mickey always became soft, or “gay" as he would call it when she looked like that.

"C’mere," Mickey motioned towards Mandy with both hands, beckoning for her to come to him. Her face lit up, and in that moment, Mickey felt himself fighting back tears. She wrapped both arms around him and squeezed so tight, he felt his breath cutting off - but he didn’t mind. He’d suffocate for his sister.

"You better keep in touch shit head," she said with her face pressed into his chest.

"I will. And ay, you’ll have somewhere to visit."

"Okay big bro," she said in her release. Mickey picked up his bags and began to make his way to the automatic doors.

"Hey Mickey!" Mandy shouted to him as he walked. He turned around.

"Yea?"

"Who was it you said you were meeting at the airport in New York again?"

Mickey was meeting his new roommate at the airport, who he had been e-mailing back and forth for the past month. The University sent all Freshman the name of their roommate, and if they opted to have some type of contact information listed, you could contact them. His future roommate had chosen to list his e-mail, and Mickey figured he would just e-mail the kid out of curiosity. Turns out, he was already on Campus for some summer program he was in, and was settled in their dorm room. _"Probably some geek,"_  Mickey thought to himself, although he wasn’t far from the title himself. He scratched his head as he wracked his brain for the name. He looked up once he remembered it.

"Some kid named Ian Gallagher," he said to his sister.

"Oh, okay. I need a name just in case I have to find him and kick his ass. You know, if he gives you any trouble." Mickey laughed at the comment. His little sis knew good and well he could fight his own battles.

Mickey walked through the automatic doors and turned giving his sister a final wave. “Kick his ass," Mickey laughed to himself again. He was more than capable of defending himself. Besides, from his name alone, the kid didn’t sound like much of a threat, and as Mickey walked briskly through the Chicago airport, all he could do was snicker to himself. What the fuck kind of name was _Ian Gallagher_ anyway? He definitely had nothing to worry about.

If only he knew danger was more than a physical threat.


	2. North Side Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian Gallagher - The early high school graduate, 16 going on 17 and preparing to go off to NYU. It's all he cares about right now, even more than his best friend. He's running from...something. Perhaps he's running from, only to run, towards.

 

 

_Blood has no place on linoleum floors.  It’s just not natural and doesn’t belong there, the red tinge teasing the lines connecting each square – a mockery and guarantee it would overstay its welcome.  He shut his green eyes tight, too tight, attempting to crush his pupils into the irises.  And maybe, just maybe, he would see only shades of jade, or perhaps the blood would decide it wanted to be blue again and crawl back into her veins.  He re-opened his eyes, and there it was, still just as tormenting than before he closed his eyes.  Towels were thrown on the floor and wrapped around shaky wrists just as quickly as panic was thrown remorselessly into chests, constricting lungs and beliefs.  Everyone was afraid to breathe, terrified each quickened breath would accelerate the flow, but vertical processions drawn with bladed edges up delicate arms took care of that.  “Why couldn’t they just be horizontal?” he thought over and over to himself.  But what good is a question that is as rhetorical as it is ironic?  And everyone knows irony without the wit is just weak sarcasm, especially when crazy is involved.  Don’t they?_

_She sat there on the kitchen floor, her cheeks wet with tears, her tongue trapped somewhere between a sob and an apology, and she shot him a glance, the words, “I can’t bear this anymore,” etched in the tiny lines of her now aged face.  He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, not sure if he was more ashamed of the fact his hair was almost the same color as the blood in the floor, or if he wanted to hide the evidence of the possible reason that could have triggered this.  The crimson haired boy stood there, so still time seemed to stop, and just as quickly as a secret stole his identity, she was hoisted up by the EMT’s, and was rushed away.  He then felt crazy and he blamed all of the blood on the floor – he knew it would stain more than the linoleum._

_Then confusion interjected shame and its sisters, blame and its brothers, and the green eyed boy wasn’t sure if the sudden onset of his insanity was from the trauma that just wrapped itself around his family like a Boa Constrictor, or if it was hereditary.  He couldn’t tell, and he would never attempt to._

*             *             *             *

Seven months later…

 

“Can you please just not go to New York?” Ezra asked the tall boy standing next to him. 

Ian shifted his back against his locker, the combination lock suddenly pressing into the middle of his spine.  He winced at the metal scraping on his bones through his skin.  That feeling was a common thing for him lately.  He turned his head slowly towards the brown haired boy, leaned his head against the locker and caught hold of his hazel eyes.

“I told you, not happening.  I’m getting the fuck out of here,” Ian responded with a kind of harshness.

“But couldn’t you just go to Northwestern?  Shit Ian, it’s just as good of a school as New York University.  You would be going to College… _with me_ ,” Ezra responded, the last two words exiting his mouth in almost a whisper. 

Ian looked at him, and instead of responding right away, he chose silence and studied the brown haired boy’s face as if trying to decipher something.  Ian and Ezra had been best friends since Kindergarten, and while there had been no evidence of any type of romantic feelings between the two of them, lately Ian couldn’t help but feel like some type of shift was happening.  Ezra knew Ian was gay, but he never let on that he himself might have been, and not to mention the slew of girls he went through over the years.  Ian quickly shook the notion out of his head. 

“Look man, you know that I’ve always wanted to go to college in New York since we’ve been kids.”  Ian stood up straight as he said this, his 6’2” frame almost towering over Ezra’s approximately 5’10” one.  You couldn’t tell Ian was the younger of the two, Ezra more than a year older.  Ian was graduating high school at the age of sixteen, and would be turning seventeen two months after in August.  Ezra had already turned eighteen in May. 

“Yea, but you got into Northwestern too,” Ezra responded while running his fingers through his curly hair.

“True,” Ian said nonchalantly.  “But it was my second choice to NYU, and I only applied there because Frank insisted.”  Frank was Ian’s functional alcoholic of a father whom he called by his first name for too many reasons to list. 

Ezra fixed his mouth to say something to Ian in response, but thought better of it.  He stared into the red haired boy’s green eyes, and squared his shoulders as if trying to hide some kind of feeling he didn’t want out for display.  The bell rang and interrupted the awkward moment. 

“Look Ezra, think of it this way.  At least you will have somewhere to visit, you know, an escape from this place,” Ian said to his best friend while patting him on the back. 

Ezra didn’t look at Ian, just smiled while looking straight ahead, revealing his extraordinarily deep dimples.  He smiled, not because he knew he could go to NYU to visit his best friend, but because he knew Ian probably would never invite him once he got there despite them being so close.  Ian wouldn’t want any reminders of home lurking around him.  The most Ezra would probably get were text messages ever so often, maybe a phone call or Skype here and there, and he knew Ian might skip coming home during the holidays, _especially Thanksgiving_.  It was complete bullshit because he knew the red head’s secrets. 

“Meet up after school man?” Ian asked Ezra almost guiltily.  He knew he was full of shit.

“Yea sure.”

“Pizza at Big Joe’s?”

“Cool,” Ezra responded.  He walked into his Calculus class.  He never looked back at Ian.  Ian knew his friend was upset.  He couldn’t blame him.  Ian had been so _disconnected_ lately.

Ian Gallagher was from the North side of Chicago.  His father was loaded and his mother a beauty queen.  Anyone looking at his life from the outside, in, would call him _crazy_ for wanting to escape what was seemingly the perfect life.  Perfect.  Yeah fucking right.  Ian’s life was anything but, and even though he grew up in a nice home, had five other siblings that surrounded him, the “nice” factor was merely in the cosmetics of it all – the home, the two parents still together (at least by paper), the six children, the dog and the white picket fence; all the surface shit that could fit in a picture frame which would hang sarcastically on a bland white wall.  The picture would laugh at him.  But just like faces that are covered in makeup, the beauty is temporary, and when washed off, all of the ugly shit is revealed. 

Beauty certainly is a beguiling call to death.  Johnny Quid was smart.

Ian was scheduled to leave for NYU almost immediately after his high school graduation.  He would have only about a two week break, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.  Instead of arriving at the end of August like most first years, Ian had applied to a Mental Health Summer program at the University, and was accepted.  The Internship was a paid one, and he would have the opportunity to shadow the University Shrinks while working in University Health Services, mainly in the Mental Health department.  He would be a part of NYU’s Peer Mediation Organization and also be someone students could talk to about their problems; probably anxious Freshman suffering from homesickness.  The red head had an affinity for Public Health and Psychology, and was an active member of his high school’s Peer Mediation and Mentoring programs his Junior, and Senior year.  He thought about joining ROTC at one point, and even going to West Point, but the thought was fleeting and quickly dissipated when he thought about how fucked up Frank was from the military.  No fucking thank you.

Instead, Ian focused on his love for the human psyche and abnormal behaviors.  There was something almost gratifying about a broken individual whom he could help put back together, his own personal humpty dumpty and distraction from the fact he needed as much putting back together as they did.  That’s what people do now, you know, focus on other people’s mess so they don’t have to dirty their hands with their own.  It’s always easier to wipe off foreign grime, the kind that doesn’t soil or stick well from not knowing your skin personally.  This is what Ian would make out of his life.  And if anyone had experience in the loony department, it was Ian, or any of the Gallaghers for that matter.  He also played for his high school’s hockey and football team.  He was the typical jock, with one exception – he’d rather fuck the teammates instead of the cheerleaders. And believe him, he has.

The school day was a blur of Yearbooks being passed around, plastic chicks in miniskirts and chalkboards full of philosophies and meaningless algorithms Ian cared nothing about, at least not anymore.  “Fucking ring already,” he internally shouted at the bell.  Each tick of the clock was a mockery of sorts, and Ian felt he would tear it apart soon, bending both its thin black arms, and force it to scream.

With one loud generic and drawn out, _‘Rrrring!’_ the bell caused high school kids to flee like cockroaches.  Ian stood quickly, swooping up his backpack and throwing it over his broad shoulder in one swift movement.  On his way towards the door, he felt someone purposely bump his shoulder as they walked by and hastily shoved a folded piece of paper in his hand.  The mystery individual turned around and gave Ian a mischievous smile, and darted out the classroom without saying anything.  Ian immediately recognized the face, the blonde hair and almost gray eyes – so not his style but something he tried out of curiosity.  Kirk.  The Captain of the hockey team.  Ian opened the piece of paper, and it read:

_“Don’t you want to be balls deep in me again before you head off to NYU?  Call me.  You have my number. ~K.”_

“Hell no,” Ian laughed almost out loud while looking down at the piece of paper.  The guy was closeted, yet clingy.  Ian had no more time for that type of bullshit, not to mention he was somewhat of a lousy lay.

“What’s so funny?” a familiar voice said to Ian, uniquely lined with a raspy quality.  Ian glanced up.  Ezra of course.

“Nothing man, just – “ Ian cut himself off mid sentence.  “Not important.”

“What’s that,” Ezra said looking down at the folded piece of paper in Ian’s hand.

“A proposition from Kirk Anderson,” Ian responded.  He may as well be honest.  There was no more room for the beating around of bushes and fibs.

“Oh,” Ezra said dryly.  The hazel eyed boy then became somewhat silent, not meeting Ian’s gaze, but remaining fixed on the piece of paper.  Ian thought he may have cared a little, so he quickly changed the subject.

“I’m starving.  Let’s go get pizza before I eat this piece of paper.” Ian said jokingly.  Ezra simply answered with a half nod.

The two boys ate in silence for the first ten minutes until Ezra decided to break the ice.  Silence can be maddening sometimes, especially for someone like Ezra, naturally inquisitive, needing to know what was going on at all times.

“So, uh – how have you been?” Ezra asked hesitantly.

“I’ve been fine,” Ian answered still looking down at his food.  And he was, so he thought.  Wasn’t he? 

Ian knew where this conversation was going, and just like destiny, he refused to believe in it.  Dammit he couldn’t do this now.  Not now.  He needed time. 

“How’s Monica?” Ezra asked quickly and quietly, as if trying to make the stab of the knife less painful.  One quick jab underneath the rib, and Ian felt crucified.  He was hanging and bleeding out.

"Don't know," Ian responded dryly.  "She's gone right now."

"So have you talked to anyone, you know, about  _you?"_ Ezra asked in almost a plea.  Ian glanced up, and Ezra's eyes made him feel exposed.

And there it was – the Final Destination bus that hits you without warning, smashing your frame against the front, splattering entrails and secrets and lies _everywhere_.  Ian was certain he could almost scoop his insides up with a spoon off of the table.  Monica was Ian’s mother, a beautiful mess of a woman, and bipolar.  He certainly did not want to think about her right now, or the fact that he was an extension of her in more ways than by birth and last name - there was the genetics.  Ian closed his eyes tight and saw lies and blue pills.  

He had to change the subject.

"So have you been preparing for Northwestern?" Ian asked Ezra randomly.  Ezra raised an eyebrow.  He knew Ian was deflecting the question.  Nevertheless, he played along.

"Nah, not really.  It's not that far from home, and I'm not leaving until the end of August, unlike you."  Ian's shoulders fell.

"Yea, well NYU sent me the name of who I'll be rooming with already," Ian responded, trying to lift the sudden heaviness.

"Oh yeah?" Ezra said, now sounding more interested.  

"Yeah, but he didn't choose the option to leave any contact information.  I left mine though."

"So what's his name?"

In that moment, everything for Ian became more into focus.   _"His name,"_ Ian thought to himself.  Not just a name, but a new name, someone not from where he was from and it felt like fresh air.

"Michael Milkovich," Ian responded.

"Wow.  He sounds like a real badass," Ezra laughed.  "Let's hope he's not crazy."

"I don't think he is," Ian said through a half smile.  "At least not as crazy as me."  Ezra's face dropped, but quickly turned into a smile of his own, when Ian let out a huge snort.  Both boys began laughing, at what, they didn't know.  But it didn't matter.

 

 

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Graduation came and went, and before Ian knew it, he was leaving.  He and Ezra had hung out the night before, and he promised his best friend that he would have him come visit.  He also promised him that he would talk - soon.

Ian's oldest sibling Fiona, who was already moved out of the house and engaged, came to see him off to the airport.  He also got a text from his older brother, Lip, who was currently away at MIT, that read:  _"Don't go fucking any old dudes at NYU.  I'll be visiting you there soon lil' bro.  Good luck.  - Lip."_ Ian laughed to himself because he knew exactly what his brother meant.  His younger siblings Debbie, Carl and Liam nearly smothered him before he got in the Taxi.  Frank was nowhere to be found when he left, which wasn't a surprise.  And all that was present of Monica was the last time he saw her smile, etched in his mind.  Ian put the window of the Taxi down, and stuck his middle finger up to his siblings.  Fiona cringed at the sight, Debbie simply smiled and Carl let out a loud,  _'Fuck yea!"_ which got him a nice smack to the back of the head from Fiona.  Ian would miss his siblings, but unfortunately, not home. _  
_

On the way to the airport, Ian decided to check his e-mail on his iPad.  There was a bunch of junk mail, NYU Welcome e-mails, and one message from a sender he didn't recognize.

_From: mickeymilk93@yahoo.com_

_To: ICGallagher@gmail.com_

_Subject: Roommate_

_"Hey what's up Ian?  So I'm going to be your new roommate.  Just thought I'd reach out._

_Guess I'll be talking to you soon."_

_\- Mickey_

 

 _  
_Ian hit "reply" and began to type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys that Ian and Mickey haven't met yet, but it's coming. Next Chapter! I appreciate the feedback, and thank you for reading. :)


	3. Something Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey finally connect. Something else happens along the way for the both of them.

There is a moment in time when immersion becomes _something else_.  A point is reached where to identify or reason is an imaginary thing, and it’s unclear if you’re just overwhelmed or actually losing yourself piece by piece.  And maybe the sensation is foreign, or maybe it isn’t, but you can never ignore the fact that your chest swells, head spins, and your ears fall far beneath the sound threshold.  You fail to tell where ambience begins and ends.  The cadence is just, all _wrong,_ and Ian can’t help but think that this is what drowning feels like.  He shut his eyes to the demon and ran his slender fingers through his short hair.  He didn’t think he’d feel like this being away from home.  Nonetheless, the sensitivity was consuming and the anxiety, it made him _sick._   His senses were cross-contaminating now, eyes hearing hurtful words, hands tasting bitterness.

He opened his desk drawer and looked down at the contents occupying the space, but didn’t take.  No second thought.  No reasoning – only the embracing of denial.  Or maybe it was fear?  Then there was the room, this room, and suddenly the space lost to its function because he knew the walls would become tainted.  Every other room in his life suffered the same fate.  College early on yielded no type of light, and Ian could only glare blankly out the large dorm window, looking down at the elements, the people and dirty sidewalks.  He wondered if this was all there was.  He knew deep down inside himself, _somewhere_ , that it wasn’t, but he could never be so sure.  Maybe he didn’t want to be.

               

_“You’re not sick sweetheart, just – Dr. Andrews cut herself off before finishing her sentence, sighing into the touch she gave him on his knee.  She peered over her tortoise framed glasses.  “Here, just take these when you feel you need them.”_

_Ian stared vacantly at the bottle.  Blue pills.  They’re always blue aren’t they?  His hands fought his command to lift and grab.  Just grab already._

_“What the hell are those?” Frank asked Dr. Andrews impatiently.  He smelled of disgust and last night’s alcohol.  His tie was loosened and hanging sloppily._

_“Zoloft,” she answered still looking down at her clipboard._

_“Well now you’re crazy too?” Frank barked at Ian.  He lifted his head slowly from its hanging position, and the red head’s eyebrows furrowed._

_“He’s not crazy Frank,” Dr. Andrews responded before Ian had the inclination to speak, or hurl insults._

_“Let’s hope not.  I can’t deal with this, and technically I don’t have to be here.”  Frank paced the white linoleum floors.  Linoleum._

_“Then fucking leave,” Ian said lowly through the gritting of his teeth.  He clenched his jaw tighter, and somewhere in that room he lost himself._

_Dr. Andrews looked at Ian, then at Frank, then back to Ian.  “Nothing he won’t grow out of.”_

_Unless his skin was planning to tear at the seams and reveal nerve, and muscle and some sort of liability, Ian knew he wouldn’t grow out of it.  He couldn’t grow out of it._

Ian rubbed a hand across his freckled face.  He had been back from the Health Center for two hours now, and he couldn’t seem to bring himself out his dorm room.  He hadn’t eaten either, and his appetite, or lack thereof, told him he wouldn’t anytime soon.  It had been almost two months since Ian had been at NYU, and the time had been as overriding as his thoughts.  Ezra was already complaining about how Ian was talking to him less, but Ian assured his best friend that he was simply busy and _adjusting_.  Ian could practically hear Ezra rolling his eyes through the phone.

_“So is this what we’ve been reduced to man?” Ezra asked Ian._

_“Look, I’ve just been busy with the Internship, and adjusting to New York,” Ian answered his best friend.  It was bullshit and Ian was embarrassed._

_“Whatever.”  Ezra loudly scoffed.  “Just call me later dude.” (Click)_

And while his best friend may have been mildly irritated with him, and the fine-tuning of his own strings to fit the melody that was New York had Ian’s head in a muddled cloud, there was one thing that wasn’t angry or confusing – his new roommate, Michael, or Mickey Milkovich would be arriving in three days. 

Over the last month, Ian and Mickey developed a quasi-friendship through e-mails.  While he had yet to meet the mystery behind the name, he couldn’t help but imagine what the boy was like.  Did he have blond hair?  Black hair?  Brown eyes?  Green eyes like his own?

 

_From: ICGallagher@gmail.com_

_To: mickeymilk93@yahoo.com_

_Re: Roommate_

_June  29, 2012, 11:11am_

_Hey Mickey!  Wow, I didn’t think you would actually use my e-mail, haha.  I’m glad you did.  I’m actually on my way to NYU now.  I got an Internship at Health Services for the summer.  I look forward to meeting you in August.  Ask me something._

_Talk again soon._

_-Ian_

_PS – I see you prefer Mickey based on your e-mail._

_*****_

_From: mickeymilk93@yahoo.com_

_To:_ [ _ICGallagher@gmail.com_ ](mailto:ICGallagher@gmail.com)

_Re: Roommate_

_June 30, 2012 3:40pm_

 

_Hey Ian.  I didn’t think I would use your e-mail either, so we’re both surprised.  Not much to ask at this point, except how’s the dorm room?  It would be nice to know it doesn’t suck._

_Talk again soon._

_-Mickey_

_PS – Yeah, I do prefer Mickey.  Never went by Michael._

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *   

Mickey’s machismo and measure of badass was never a matter of inquiry or doubt.  His carbon print was too commonly seen, phantoms of _FUCK U-_ UP hovering somewhere over a scarred lip or new set of stitches.  Questions never crossed lips ready to spit out skepticism.  It was a given – until now.  Mickey couldn’t help but feel the tug of _something else_ pulling at every follicle of his onyx strands, but not only that, he was nervous.  He was at a point, foreign to him, and while the mystery mapped his thoughts and the anticipation his footing, his arrival at JFK International Airport solidified his nervousness.  A Milkovich nervous.  He couldn’t let this happen.  He wasn’t programmed for it.

And perhaps the phase of him being such a brute was beginning to form oil in water, the uncivilized art not mixing well with the intelligence that came to him almost as naturally.  Still, he was a Milkovich and being a bitch wasn’t an option.

 

_“What the fuck!  Are you fucking nervous?”  Terry shouted at his son.  A nine year old Mickey stood in front of his room door, looking in, but not daring to enter._

_“I can’t,” Mickey protested.  The walls of his room seemed to laugh at him._

_“For fuck’s sake, not this shit again Mickey!”  Terry shot up from their couch, now alcohol stained and empty, foreshadowing something threatening.  Judging by the lines of coke on the table and the bottles of already opened vodka, Terry was in no mood to play nice dad._

_"But he’s gonna get me,” Mickey said in a murmur.  “The Sha – Terry’s fist connected with Mickey’s face before he could finish his sentence.  A painful blow planted itself right beneath his right blue eye, and pain was redefined in that moment.  The hurt was extraordinary._

_Another hit.  And another. His father seemed to strike with an intensity that screamed he was old enough to take it this way now.  The scream of each punch mixed with the desperation of Mickey’s cries, a formula that was sure to draw blood, a familiar friend._

_“Stop being such a faggot, and get your ass in that room.  No son of mine is gonna to be some fucking pansy!”  Terry grabbed Mickey by his throat and shoved the frail boy into darkness, the walls ready to devour._

_“Ay, ay ,ay Terry!” a deep voice with a heavy Serbian accent cut through Terry’s rage._

_Mandy and his older brothers were already in bed, more than likely by force or fear, and it was an older male’s voice which meant it was Terry’s brother Vladimir.  He always hung around when the drugs and booze were free flowing, but despite being just as beastly as Terry, Vladimir looked down on hurting children beyond a smack here and there._

_“The fuck Vlad!  Stay out of this.  He’s my son!” Terry shouted at his brother, walking towards him._

_Vladimir simply dismissed Terry, and held up his hand to Terry’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.  He was serious, Vladimir, but the Glasgow smile he had made him always look like he was smiling, the scars starting from the corners of his mouth extending towards his ears._

_“I’ll see that Mick’s okay, no?” Terry seemed to come down at the sound of Vlad’s voice.  His brother poured some vodka in a shot glass and handed it to Terry.  “Here, take a drink.”  Terry downed it and threw the glass on the floor, shattering it._

_Vladimir made his way into Mickey’s room, only to find the young boy crouched in the corner and crying._

_“Don’t cry,” Vladimir said to his nephew._

As Mickey made his way through the airport terminal, he glanced down at his phone.  The screen read, “ _1 New Message.”_ It was probably Ian, since they decided it would be easier to connect once Mickey landed if they exchanged numbers.  He unlocked his iPhone, a gift from his older brother Iggy before he left for New York and no doubt stolen, or paid for with money he probably beat someone’s ass for.

[ **Gallagher  12:02pm:** Hey Mickey.  It says ur flight landed like 10 minutes ago.  I’ll be by the luggage pick-up.]

[ **Mickey  12:10pm:** K.  How will I recognize u?]

[ **Gallagher  12:13pm:** I’ll be the tall redhead holding the sign that says, “Mr. Milkovich” haha.]

[ **Mickey  12:14pm:** ur not serious r u?]

[ **Gallagher  12:16pm:** Very.]

 

Mickey decided to add Ian to his contacts as _Gallagher_ based solely on the fact that the kid’s last name sounded more badass than his first.  Something about having the name “Ian” in his phone made Mickey feel ill at ease.  He would ask him later if he could actually call him by his last name.  Mickey twisted his face in unbelief and slight amusement when he saw Ian’s last text.  He hoped the kid was only joking, and wasn’t actually going to be standing in the airport terminal with a stupid fucking sign.  Mickey hadn’t even met him yet, but he could already tell this guy was sassy as hell, a true creature of sarcasm.  Not a problem at all – Mickey had his wits about him also. 

As Mickey made his way to the baggage claim, he started scanning the airport for Ian.  He didn’t know what he looked like, but he did remember Ian telling him that he was tall for his age, already 6’2”, and had red hair.  Jesus, Mickey hoped he could spot this guy.  He wasn’t the only person with red hair.  Mickey stood by the moving belt, and picked up his bags one by one as he spotted them.  He threw one duffle bag over his shoulder, carried the other in his left hand, and grabbed the suitcase handle with his right.  He turned away from the conveyer belt and began to walk towards  the crowd of people holding bouquets of flowers and facial expressions of expectancy and longing for arriving loved ones.

Then he spotted him.  He looked like the typical product of Chicago’s north side, clean cut and over-privileged, seemingly, and the sight - it was undeniable.  Just as the kid said, there he stood about twenty feet away from the baggage claim, holding an obnoxious white sign with the words, _“Mr. Milkovich”_ scribbled on it with a black sharpie.  But that wasn’t the undeniable part.  Ian was tall, really tall for a seventeen year old, and his hair – is was fucking _fire red._ The strands of his short hair, not too short, seemed to catch the fluorescent lights of the airport, the glow resembling that of embers, the green shirt he was wearing making the red stand out that much more.  No one else’s hair seemed to glimmer like that, and Mickey was beginning to feel really fucking gay for even noticing it.  He wasn’t gay though.  But he couldn’t help but keep his blue eyes locked on Ian’s hair, and what was that on his face?  _Fuck._   The biggest shit eating grin Mickey had ever seen.

Mickey walked up to Ian, and shot him a quick smile.  “Hey,” Mickey said to the red haired boy.

“Hey Mickey,” Ian replied, that grin still plastered on his freckled face.

*    *    *   *    *    *    *    *    *

“Shit!” Ian said to himself as he glanced down at the time on his phone.  He was going to be late meeting Mickey at the airport.  11:40am.  The flight was scheduled to arrive at 11:45am according to Mickey’s text before taking off from Chicago.  He jogged up the subway steps, skipping two steps at a time, his long legs more than capable of making the stretch.  He hailed a taxi and quickly jumped in, a huge white sign tucked tight under his arm.  “JFK Airport please,” he said to the driver.  He looked at the sign which read, _“Mr. Milkovich.”_   Ian chuckled to himself.

Traffic.  Of fucking course there would be traffic at 11:40am on a Saturday in New York City.  It took twenty minutes to finally arrive to the airport.  Ian quickly tossed the driver a twenty dollar bill.  “No change,” he said to the man, and hopped out.  He glanced down at this phone.  12:00pm.  There were no missed messages from Mickey, so maybe his flight was a bit delayed arriving.  Ian had offered to meet Mickey at the airport being he would be like fish out of water in a new city, and it would be nice to not get totally lost his first day, which is what happened to Ian.  He jogged through the airport doors.  He hated being late, always has.

He made his way swiftly through the airport, passing couples hugging, men in Military uniforms and kids running around the legs of parents with lost patience.  There was a man dressed in full traditional Arab garbs, and Ian couldn’t help but catch the hideous and frightened glances people were shooting the man as he prayed on a small rug he laid in front of a wall.  If looks were bullets, the man stood no chance at survival.  Ian shook his head – ignorance was something he always had trouble digesting and regurgitation was always imminent.  As he spotted the baggage claim, he began to scan the airport for Mickey.  He wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he did remember Mickey telling him through e-mail that he was roughly 5’9” – 5’10”,  around Ezra’s height Ian thought, and had black hair.  He made a joke in there somewhere about being _“the palest dude on the planet.”_   Ian laughed to himself about the thought, because he doesn’t know if he ever met anyone that was as pale as he was. 

He looked at his phone.  12:02pm.  He decided to send Mickey a text, as it looked like his flight arrived about 10 minutes ago.  It took about eight minutes for Mickey to respond.  He was on his way to the baggage claim.  Ian grinned, because he knew his sign, although a bit obnoxious, would be something to laugh about later.  The red head held up the sign and waited. 

A few minutes later, Ian spotted him.  It had to be him, and although he couldn’t be so sure, there was _something_ that told Ian that this was Mickey.  He noticed him when he walked briskly up to the baggage claim, wearing a black v-neck t-shirt as black as his hair, the sleeves stopping right at the top of his biceps.  He watched as the dark haired boy grabbed two duffle bags and one suitcase, then turned around, making his way towards the crowd.  He knew it was Mickey for sure, when he stopped and glanced around a few times as if searching for someone.    Subsequently, Mickey looked directly at Ian, catching a glimpse of the sign.  He smirked and started walking towards him.

He looked like the typical product of Chicago’s south side, rough around the edges, and more than likely, guarded.  The way Mickey walked was erratic, his gait wide and uncalculated, and Ian thought he liked his walk.  But that wasn’t what stood out to Ian.  Mickey’s hair was black, charcoal black, and his skin resembled that of porcelain.  Shit, he was pale, the palest Ian had ever seen, but there was almost a luster to his skin, and the contrast of dark hair and fair skin created a juxtaposition Ian was bound to dream about.  Then there were his eyes – they were the bluest eyes, and although he was more than twenty feet away, the blue cut through the distance between them like an azure laser beam and Ian was pegged, and _gone._   If Mickey never found out, or got the slightest hint, those eyes would definitely be the death of him.The noticeable roughness to the Milkovich boy that Ian noticed almost immediately, started to turn him on, right there in the airport.  His mouth suddenly became dry, and he swallowed hard, trying to alleviate the drought forming in his throat.  Mickey was fucking _beautiful_.

But Mickey was obviously straight.

As Mickey got closer, Ian’s grin got wider, and he knew he looked like a complete idiot, but he could care less.  The dark haired boy was at arm’s length now, and Ian’s heart seemed to beat at the speed of lighting.  He was sure Mickey could see it practically beating through his chest, if not already completely out, raw and pulsating, splayed out for observation.  There was _something_ about Mickey that Ian couldn’t put his finger on, but he wouldn’t try to.

“Hey,” Mickey said succinctly.  His voice resonated deeply within Ian.

“Hey Mickey,” Ian responded, still sporting his grin.  “Welcome to New York.”

“Thanks.  So I see you were serious about that sign, huh?”  Mickey smiled as he said this.  Damn dangerous.

“Well how else were you gonna find me?”

“Your hair would been enough,” Mickey blurted out before he knew it.  _Fuck._

Ian tilted his head to the side, slightly confused, then it clicked.  “I know, it’s pretty red,” he laughed.  “You can see me coming from a mile away.  So how was the flight?”  The two boys began to make their way out of the airport.

“Fucking bumpy as hell,” Mickey responded.  He swiped his thumb across his bottom lip, a tick he’s had for as long as he could remember.  He wish he could throw it away, because it was a telltale sign of nerves.

As they walked, Ian caught a glimpse of Mickey’s knuckles, individual letters printed on each finger, spelling out, _FUCK U-UP_.  He chuckled to himself.  Most people would’ve been taken aback by the tattoo, but Ian found it cool, mysterious, and quite amusing.  Mickey was definitely from the south side.  He would ask him about the story behind it later.  There was always a story behind _everything._  

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

The cab ride back to the dorm was fairly quiet, the gaps of silence being filled by Ian pointing out different hangouts in the city, or Mickey asking a question here and there.  When they arrived, Ian pulled out another twenty dollar bill to pay the taxi driver, but was quickly interrupted by a cool, “I got it,” from Mickey.  He pulled out a crisp fifty dollar bill, and tipped the driver after he got his change.

“Such a gentleman,” Ian joked.  He could see Mickey instantly become uncomfortable from the comment.

“Yeah, yeah.  Whatever man,” Mickey replied.  He looked around and noticed a slew of other first years moving in to the dorms, unpacking mini vans and blandly colored sedans, as dads with beer bellies with false senses of strength tried to carry televisions and large suitcases inside.  The Stepford wives watched in sundresses and shades too big for their faces.  Mickey chuckled at the site.  It was sad because these kids would soon be tainted by the city and its demons.  Mickey was already tainted, south side style, and his demons – already on his heels.

They finally made it inside, and the room was huge.  Mickey was surprised it wasn’t a hole in the wall.  As he put down his bags, he noticed how tired he was.  “So I guess this side’s mine,” Mickey said to Ian, pointing to the left side of the room.

“Yup that’s your side.”

Mickey moved his bags by the empty desk, and fell backwards on the naked bed.  He shut his eyes, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept.  He laid there silent for a moment, and when he noticed the red head wasn’t making any noise, he opened his eyes and looked to the other side of the room.  Ian was sitting on his bed _staring_ at him.  Mickey felt something rush inside his chest, and pressure began to build in his head.  He sat up, and although his body screamed sleep, he fought against it.

“There anywhere good to eat ‘round here?” Mickey asked Ian.  “I’m fucking starving.” 

“Yeah, there’s this Mexican place that makes the best burritos on west Broadway.  Dos Caminos.”

“Food?” Mickey asked.  He wasn’t really starving, but perhaps a walk around the city would work the kinks out of his nerves.

“Sure,” Ian responded, sporting that smile again.

The two boys made their way outside, and as they walked, Mickey remembered he had a question to ask Ian.

“Hey, uh, can I call you Gallagher?” Mickey asked.  At first Ian looked baffled, then quickly shrugged it off.

“Sure,” he responded.

 Ian didn’t know why, but it seemed to fit.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was more difficult to write than I thought it would be. The story lines for both Ian and Mickey are still pretty separate, and I needed them to build without being all over the place until the initial connection. The story is still early on, but I hope you all are still enjoying! Now that they're both on campus, the story should be more fluid.


	4. Colors

White.  Mickey’s face was _white_.  All of the colors that have been smeared across this porcelain boy from red to green, black and blue – blood, nausea, scars and bruised skin, and the one that chose to invade him this time around was white.  As a consequence, it wasn’t the type of white where you may have seen a ghost, or just lost the contents of your stomach, but the kind generated by extreme heat where red and orange have been surpassed.  And wasn’t it Incubus that said _‘consequence is a bigger word than you think?’_   Certainly, but he didn’t need some significant line in a lyric to tell him that.  

His pacing couldn’t be more frantic.  This was a new type of fever in his skin, one he’d never felt before and if spontaneous combustion was a real phenomenon, Mickey felt like he was about to become _real_ _phenomenal._   The headlines would read, _“Chicago south side teenaged boy spontaneously bursts into flames in NYU dorm.”_   His funeral would be sad and poorly attended.

“Hey Mickey, you okay?” Ian asked him cautiously.  The older boy did not respond, at least not right away.  He only stared.  He ran his tattooed fingers through his dark hair.

“Fuck,” Mickey cursed to himself.

“Listen, I understand if you’re freaked out,” Ian responded to his roommate, looking down at the hardwood floor.  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m not freaked out,” Mickey lied.  He was always a terrible liar.  He was so transparent in this moment, his frame like cheap glass, and the redhead could see straight through him.  The way his green eyes stared said so.  Mickey felt so idiotic and way too fucking _open_ reacting this way.  Normally, he would've almost killed somone in _this_ type of situation.  He felt like it - but didn't.  So another color, yellow, reared its sallow head, and Mickey paced with a dandelion belly, the cowardice planting itself right in his gut.  He wished he could take time and rewind it, instead he cursed it – the natural occurrence always had it out for him.  _‘It’s way too early for this shit,’_ Mickey thought to himself.

******

_"_ _Peder!  Homoseksualac!” Vladimir screamed in Serbian before he spat at the limp form on the ground.  The sky was gray, and the drizzling rain seemed to take root in Vladimir’s scars._

_“You see this son?” Terry asked an eight year old Mickey as he placed his hand on his shoulder.  “This is what happens to faggots.  Never associate yourself with them, you hear me?”  Mickey quietly nodded.  As if he had a choice to do anything else._

_The victim was a man and a stranger, unassuming, far from threatening, and until now, someone who had the ability to walk and talk, lift a glass to toast to friends and silver linings.  Now he was nothing more than a strange mass on a dirt mound, bloodied and broken in more places than physical._

******

 

“Hey listen,” Ian started as he reached out to touch Mickey’s shoulder.  “If you feel –

Mickey flinched, and jerked away from Ian.  “Don’t fucking touch me,” he said sharply, and walked out the door.

*******

_His hair was black like Mickey’s, and the young boy and his blue eyes wondered if the strange man’s own were the same, but you couldn’t see his eyes.  They were already swollen shut.  Here laid a man transformed into a human canvas, splattered in colors of red, brown, black, blue and pinkish-beige – blood, dirt, gravel, bruises and vomit.  Mickey had just watched in horror as the man was beaten inches from his life, and he couldn’t help but think that this was what death looked like._

_Terry and Vladimir had taken Mickey with them on a run to “show him the ropes” early.  On the way to their destination, they spotted a young man bidding his lover, another man, farewell with a kiss.  One kiss.  A look from Terry and his brother, and Mickey could feel the heat of anger making the air in the truck too hot and too hard to breathe._

_For some reason, Mickey didn’t feel that same anger._

_They followed the young man with a twisted purpose to make a sick example out of him._

_Mickey doesn’t remember how he felt during it all.  The only things remaining are the moving pictures in his head, some clearer than others.  But, he does remember the sounds of desperate cries for help, merciless growls from the mouths of wolves, bones cracking, skin tearing and the colors – all of the colors._

_They were too vivid to forget._

_*********_

Mickey stormed outside and abused the New York City pavement with the hard, angry steps of his feet, his boots smashing any form of remnants into the cement cracks.  He was mostly stomping his own demons – straight back to hell, if there was one.

He made his way to the Half Pint.  He couldn’t sweat this out, curse it or fight it out, and _fuck_ talking it out.  He would drink it out.

_**********_

 

Two months earlier…

 

“I still can’t absorb this,” Ian laughed.  Mickey shot him a glance that had ‘Milkovich’ stamped all over it.  Mickey was sprawled out on his bed, with a huge Chemistry textbook open, a blue highlighter in his right hand and an open notebook.  He was scribbling complicated formulas, and methodically highlighting definitions in the textbook.    

“Why are you so surprised?” Mickey asked Ian.  “I didn’t just walk my way into NYU.”

“No man, I didn’t mean it like that,” Ian responded throwing up his hands in a surrender-like gesture.  “Jesus, I’m sorry.  I still can’t get over you being a Biochemistry major.”

“Yeah well, I am,” Mickey responded.  “I did get a perfect score on my SAT’s and NYU gave me a full ride.”

“Gosh you’re just like my brother Lip,” Ian laughed shaking his head.  “All smartass and academic, except you’re a lot more harsh dude.”

“Well even the shitty south side of Chicago can breed prodigies Gallagher.  And you ain’t seen harsh.”  A smirk glided over Mickey’s face, one that clearly said he was proud.  Ian, he _liked_ it.

“But you’re such a badass,” Ian said still laughing.

“Maybe, but I’ve always been good at the school thing.  And besides, look at you man.”

“Look at me?” Ian asked still halfway smiling.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re into Psychology, mental illness and all that shit.  You look more like a future military brat, not some jerkoff with a couch and a notepad.”  Ian threw his head back and let out a guttural laugh.  He was so, _shameless,_ this kid, and Mickey couldn’t help but respect his candidness.

“It’s funny you say that.  I almost joined ROTC in high school, but Frank is so fucked up from the military, I thought better of it.”

“Your dad?” Mickey asked.  After a month of living together, Mickey still couldn’t get used to Ian calling his father by his first name.  Even Mickey didn’t call Terry by his first name, despite the man’s existence completely being the contralateral to what a father was.  Besides, he liked having a full set of teeth.

“Yeah… _Frank_.” Ian responded.  He refused to say _dad,_ avoided it like the plague.  Mickey just snorted.

“You’re weird Gallagher.”

“You talk in your sleep Mick.”

_Silence._

               

Since it was Friday, and _“Who the hell studies on a Friday?”_ as Ian said to Mickey after awkward silence and more blue highlighting of information he would probably never use again, the redhead suggested they go out.  After nearly a month, they still hadn’t gotten a chance to leave their mark in New York City, at least not properly.  The first three weeks of the semester were hell, and neither of them barely got a chance to even take a breath.  Between Ian’s Internship, which he was offered to continue throughout the semester, peer mentoring and Mickey’s smorgasbord of Chemistry, Biology, Advanced Calculus and other subjects Ian didn’t understand, both boys had barely gotten out into the elements.  Mickey had met a few of the friends Ian made on campus, but only briefly.  Ian was also itching to get to know the Milkovich boy _outside_ of this room.  He wondered if Mickey felt the same about him.

“C’mon, that’s it,” Ian said as he walked over towards Mickey.  “We’re going out.”

“Where the hell to Gallagher?”

“This bar called the Half Pint,” Ian responded.

“But we ain’t 21 genius,” Mickey said as he sat up.

“Doesn’t matter.  I have connections.”  That shit eating grin crept across Ian’s freckled face, and Mickey thought something of it.  The younger boy had a way with people it seemed.

“Okay?”

“The place is run by this guy named Kevin Ball.  He’s awesome, self-proclaimed “white trash,” and dates this wannabe-nurse chick named Veronica, but everyone calls her V.  She’s Simon and Sanai’s cousin, the two I work with from Peer Mentoring.”

“The chick with the huge curly fro, and her twin brother?”

“Yeah.  So Kev doesn’t ID us, and he’s friends with almost every cop in that area.  I’m also gonna invite Milo and Jessica.

“K.  Sounds like a plan man.”

Mickey had only met Ian’s friends here and there, and he never hung around too long because he always had class.  It was usually when he was on his way out, and Ian was just arriving back from his own, and he would have one or two people at times with him.  Their weekly schedules were so different, so they barely saw each other during the day.  They did manage to meet for lunch a few times a week.

Simon and Sanai were fraternal twins, and the first African Americans Mickey had ever associated himself with.  Terry was pretty much a Nazi, and forbid his children to associate with anyone outside of white.  Iggy and Nicky never followed this protocol of course, and he and Mandy were always around them somehow.  It was pretty much unavoidable in the south side of Chicago.  The twins were cool though, an interesting pair.  Sanai’s hair was always somewhere between big and just plain outrageous, her high cheek bones and dimple in her right cheek showing whenever she laughed, _loud_ , and Simon was the type of guy who’s Kanye West-like style spoke for him.  They were Harlem natives, and made that clear every chance they got. 

Milo was a guy Ian played sports with, Irish like Ian minus the red hair.  The guy was a second year and Mickey had no clue how they met.  One afternoon Ian just showed up with the guy, both of them wearing basketball gear and drenched in sweat.  Mickey didn’t say much to the guy, just a quick nod  and a “Hey man,” as he was rushing out to class.  The guy just smiled at him like he knew him.   Mickey quickly got pissed.  No one smiles at him like that, especially a fucking dude – that was the perfect recipe for an inked _FUCK_ to be printed somewhere on his face.

Jessica was a blonde in every form of the hair color, but Mickey knew she was smarter than she chose to let on.  She had _green eyes_ and Mickey knew she had a crush on him based on the roses in her cheeks and flirtatious glances she gave him every time she was around.  She was in Ian’s Intro to Psych class, and forgot her textbook the first day of class.  She was sitting next to Ian, and he told Mickey after a string of _shits_ and _dammits_ he asked the girl what was wrong.  She simply forgot her textbook and couldn’t follow along, so Ian shared his with her and she’s been around ever since.  Mickey still couldn’t quite wrap his head around why Ian hadn’t fucked her yet.

Getting female attention wasn’t a problem for Gallagher.  In fact, they flocked to him.

Around 10:30pm, the two boys made their way out into the New York City streets.  A guy on a bicycle with long hair and sporting a backpack rode by them so fast, clipping the side of Mickey’s arm, which startled him, causing the shorter boy to trip over his own feet.  Ian almost instinctively caught Mickey by his other arm, stabilizing him.

“Whoa there!” Ian laughed.  “I gotcha.”

“I can _get_ myself,” Mickey said to the taller boy, snatching his arm from his grasp.  “Not like I haven’t tripped before.”  Mickey was obviously perturbed.  Ian could only be amused at the Milkovich boy’s apparent embarrassment.  Goodness, this guy was too guarded and uptight for such a self-proclaimed bad boy.  Ian would loosen him up by the end of the night with more than a few drinks.

“Didn’t look like you had yourself a few seconds ago,” Ian said still laughing.  Mickey shot him an annoyed glance.

“Whatever man,” Mickey responded as he looked away.  Ian stared down at him, the south side and all its wonder wrapped solidly in this dark-haired mystery.

“Loosen up dude!”

“I’m loose.”

“Not yet,” Ian smirked.  Mickey shot the kid a peripheral glance and he could tell that shit eating grin was growing – slowly but surely.

After a few more jokes about Mickey’s near death experience from his own feet, some intermittent scoffs from the older boy and Ian talking about God knows what, they finally arrived at the Half Pint.  Man this kid could _talk_ , and Mickey was somewhat relieved that he didn’t have to listen to him run his mouth anymore.  At least he thought he was relieved. 

Funny thing about the absence of something – you don’t realize you miss it until it’s no longer there.  Mickey only experienced this feeling with his mother, but this Milkovich would soon again experience the ebb and flow of this trend.

When they entered the Half Pint, Ian immediately recognized and went over to his friends already at the bar, all loudly laughing at something some chick was screaming at the bartender.  The loud female was African American, had really long dreadlocks and a voice that was far too big for her tiny frame.  The bartender was a tall white male, with black hair slicked back into a ponytail, and a goatee.  He had a rag in one hand, and a glass in the other with his arms held up in a surrendering gesture similar to the one Ian had given him earlier.  When the locked female noticed Ian, she instantly waived off the bartender and nearly suffocated the kid with the tightest hug.  Mickey guessed she was Veronica and the bartender was Kevin.  Mickey quietly made his way to the bar.

“Ian!  My baby!  I haven’t seen you in almost a month you jerk!” the girl screeched.  Her voice definitely broke the sound barrier, and had to be a couple pitches above the human norm.  “I swear you get cuter every time I see you!”

“Hey V,” Ian responded best he could with his air supply being stifled by her hug.  He nodded to the bartender.  “Hey Kev.”

“Ian, my boy!  How’s it going?” the bartender said, his voice almost as loud as V’s.  These two were obviously made for each other.

“Not too bad,” Ian said as he took a seat on one of the empty stools next to Milo.  Simon, Sanai and Jessica were all standing at the bar.  Mickey made his way without initially being noticed, to the empty stool next to Ian.  Of course a new face is like a sore thumb.

“Who’s this?” V asked Ian looking towards a quiet Mickey.  He felt like the awkward new kid.  He hated initial introductions.  They were cumbersome and took up more time than Mickey felt was necessary.

“This is my roommate Mickey,” Ian responded as he placed his left hand on Mickey’s right shoulder.  Mickey’s reflexes usually rejected such a gesture and they were never delayed, but for some reason, he felt okay with his roommate touching him, the close contact not even close to causing him to remove his hand.  Mickey looked at Veronica, and in true Milkovich fashion, simply nodded.  She immediately made her way to him.

“Well hello Mickey,” V greeted him with one of her hugs Mickey was beginning to believe she was probably famous for.  He almost cringed.  He hated close contact, but refrained from pushing her off of him.  “Aren’t you a looker?  And Jesus those blue eyes!  They’re almost as pretty as my Kevy’s.”  Mickey didn’t blush, he didn’t think he was biologically built for it, but he may have been close to something similar after V’s compliment. 

“Yeah, almost!” Kevin shouted from behind the bar.  He made his way over to Mickey, with a beer in hand.  “Here man, first one’s on me.  Just remember this beautiful lady here is taken!”  V grinned and leaned over, kissing her boyfriend.  After she pulled away, she shot Ian a mischievous grin.

“Ian?” she raised her eyebrow.  Instantly his cheeks matched the hair on his head and he was _blush_.  Ian shook his head, and the two almost began speaking in code, exchanging sounds and movements like modern day cave people.  “Oh?” V finally said.  “Gotcha babes.”

Ian looked over at Mickey whose face was painted with confusion.  “Don’t mind us,” Ian said to Mickey, still halfway blushing.

“I wasn’t,” Mickey responded nonchalantly.  “Ay, where’s the bathroom?  Gotta take a leak.”

“Pass the pool table on the right.”

Mickey made his way to the bathroom, and Ian watched as his roommate disappeared behind the restroom doors. 

“Could you be any more obvious?” Milo asked Ian as he lightly shoved the redhead on his forearm. 

“Shut up dude.” 

“You like him.”

“You like me,” Ian responded sarcastically to Milo.

“Yeah, well, I have you to thank for that.”  Milo and Ian were a summer fling.  They had met at the gym, quickly hit it off, but both boys soon discovered that their connection was more physical than anything, and they were better off as friends.  Although they were no longer involved, Milo would always tease Ian about how he could have been the love of his life.

“Well, he doesn’t know, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t bring it up tonight,” Ian said to Milo.

“Bring up what?” a voice from behind Milo asked loudly.  It was Sanai, and Ian wasn’t surprised she heard them talking.  She was a professional eaves dropper and ear hustling always yielded much profit for the girl.  Her curly afro nearly smacked Milo in the face.

“Mickey doesn’t know Ian is gay yet,” Milo answered.  “And Ian is always telling me how cute he thinks he is.”

“Yeah, but he’s obviously straight,” Ian responded.

  Sanai furrowed her eyebrows while smirking at the same time.  A classic Sanai facial expression.  “He doesn’t know yet Ian?  How do you two live together, and he doesn’t know you like boys?”

“Because I haven’t told him yet.”

“Why?”

“Sanai, I’ll tell him when I feel the right moment has presented itself.  Right now, just drop it.”

“Ok, I’ll leave it alone.  If you ask me, maybe its best you wait.  Those knuckle tattoos of his tell me he doesn’t handle certain things to well.”  Sanai made her way back over to Jessica and her brother who were already feeling the effects of one too many shots.

A few moments later, Mickey emerged, and so did the beers.  Kevin kept them coming, and they threw them back as fast as the bottom of the glasses hit the wooden counter.  Maybe they should put coasters there, but the crash of the glass on the cherry wood was needed, the sound an intermediary for the insecurities and doubts warring in the sublime.  Ian was in the mood to compensate for the unease that plagued his mind after Sanai’s comment.  The _‘doesn’t handle certain things too well’_ needed to be drowned out by beer. 

An already inebriated Jessica made her way over to dark hair and blue eyes, and Ian felt silly for thinking _‘my dark hair and my blue eyes,’_ and that’s when the vodka shots became absolutely necessary.  Attraction and the attachment that tends to stick to it never chooses a convenient time to take hold of you, and as Ian watched familiar blonde hair he suddenly found stupid, being stupidly flung by stupid hands, he thought the flirtation was just – _stupid_.  Mickey looked awkward, and Jessica looked thirsty.  But she could never be satiated by Mickey the way Ian could be.

Gosh he was thinking like a crazy person.  He barely knew his roommate, but _something_ always tugged at him nonetheless.

Then, there was music.  So much _music_.  And Ian couldn’t quite recall if the melodies were seeping through the speakers of the Half Pint’s crappy sound system, or if the tune of intoxication was playing in his head.  He does remember the lyrics,

                _“Anger, he smiles towering in shiny metallic purple armour,_

_Queen Jealousy, envy waits behind him,_

_Her fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground.”_

Jimi Hendrix “Bold As Love” could not have been more perfect for the moment.  But the music was more than likely in his mind’s eye.  Fiery, green – everything Ian was, not limited to his hair and eyes.  Everything had fucking _color_ and Ian hated that sometimes.

He was drunk, and so was Mickey, although not as drunk as he was.  After hours of drinking, the redhead found himself being helped to keep his footing, the very thing he laughed at Mickey for nearly losing earlier.  Oh, the irony.  And Ian doesn’t remember saying goodnight to his friends, or exiting the doors of the Half Pint, but he does remember his arm around solid shoulders, his biceps pressing a secret need into the nape of a neck, jet black hairs caressing and being lost in the feel of it all. 

“I’m gonna say you staring at me like that is because you’re drunk, Gallagher,” Mickey said to a wide-eyed Ian.  His voice was like a distant thunder in Ian’s ears.  He certainly _was_ intoxicated. 

That wasn’t _all_ the case.  Ian was just lost in _something_.

When they made it back to the dorm, Mickey placed Ian on his bed, and began to make his way to his own.  He was stopped by a firm hand, gripping his forearm.  Was Ian fucking _crazy_?

“Wait,” Ian slurred through an alcohol stained tongue.  Mickey quickly snatched his arm out of his grip.  This kid was lucky he was drunk.

“What Gallagher?” Mickey said curtly.

“Don’t go.  Just…” the redhead’s voiced trailed off.

“Jesus, don’t what?”  Mickey felt himself getting pissed.  This was dumb.  Why was Ian _touching_ him, _again_.

“Just let me protect you when you scream in your dreams,” Ian said, almost as if in another state of mind.

 _What the fuck?_ Mickey just looked at his roommate, obviously drunk, but somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, one of the most honest and almost psychic spaces a human being could ever be in.  He shuddered inside.  _Scream in his dreams?_

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about Gallagher,” Mickey said almost angrily.  “And you’re drunk.  I’m going to bed.”

Silence.  Ian was snoring softly.

Mickey swiped his thumb across his bottom lip and walked over to his bed.  He didn’t lay down immediately, but sat down on the edge of his twin bed, the springs in the mattress mocking the stiffness of his frame from denial, denial, _denial_.  He rubbed his hands across his face, finally laying back.  He cursed his demons.  They had followed him here.  Then suddenly in the corner of his eye – a shadow.  He crushed his eyelids into his pupils.  _“Not there,”_ he thought.  Sleep came, eventually, but not peacefully.

 

A few hours later, Mickey jolted out of his sleep, or something posing as such.  He didn’t sit up, just violently opened his eyes.  He didn’t even budge, just stayed on his side, curled in a fetal position.  He was still fully clothed, and his clothes were drenched in sweat.  He was facing Ian’s side of the room, and was about to get up to change his clothes until he noticed something.  When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he noticed a figure sitting at Ian’s desk, and Mickey almost panicked, the silhouette jogging something all too familiar in his head.  But Ian was not in his bed, and the older boy realized it _was_ his roommate sitting at his desk, staring down into one of the open drawers.  Mickey glanced at his clock.  4:45am.  He decided against moving and just observed the boy across the room.  What was he doing?

A moment passed after he sat at his desk, and Ian, unaware that Mickey was watching him, reached into the open drawer and pulled out the bottle.  The blue was not noticeable in the dark, so maybe this once it was okay. 

Was Ian _crying_?  The sound wasn’t loud, but the redhead was breathing heavily and erratically, the pattern all too familiar to Mickey and resembling that of someone silently weeping.  He looked at Ian as he pulled something out of his desk drawer, and the sound of tiny tablets hitting against plastic rang in Mickey’s ears.  He watched as the silhouette of his roommate opened the bottle, and tossed a few mystery pills in his mouth.  He held his head back as he swallowed, letting it linger in the angle for a few moments after swallowing, before leveling himself back to looking straight ahead.  He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, slowly stood, and staggered back to his bed.  Mickey didn’t ask him what he was doing, or taking.  He simply observed.

But he couldn’t help but wonder.

 

The next day, neither boy talked about what happened, or what they saw or supposedly said.  Their exchanges were brief, and lined in the want to _avoid._   It remained like that for the next few weeks, but eventually things would surface, not willingly, but inevitably.

                ‘ _Why does Mickey sometimes cry out in his sleep?’_ Ian wonders.

                ‘ _What were those pills Ian was taking?’_ Mickey wonders.

 

***********

               

Ian stood in the middle of the dorm room, the slamming of the door after Mickey had stormed out, still reverberating in the pit of his stomach.  He didn’t know what to think, or how he could make what just happened seem like a fluke or one big joke, but he did know things would change from this moment on.

What the hell was he thinking?

Mickey rendered no suggestion.  Did he?

Ian was unsure, everything was unsure, and suddenly this kid from the north side of Chicago, so definite and persuasive in his endeavors and things he wanted, was nothing more than a confused kid.

“Why did I do that?” Ian scolded himself.

Did he really just try to _kiss_ his roommate?  
               

He did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok...to start I apologize in advance for all of the flashbacks, flash-forwards and POV's! Ian and Mickey's stories are both so layered, I have to write this fic in a way where both of the story lines come together and open up more and more (I do hope you guys enjoy it though). Also, it's a crucial part of their character development. Chapter 4 spills over into Chapter 5, so any cliff hangers or things that seem unclear will be dealt with coming up, I promise! 
> 
> I had to introduce the prospective "romance" aspect (and it's just prospective at the moment) for Ian and Mickey without delving too much into it, as it will resurface later in the fic. Also, what they are dealing with on a personal level will be revealed more and more.
> 
> Lastly, since this story mostly takes place in NYC, that means there's no Alibi, so I introduced the Half Pint as the "Alibi" of NYC, lol. I'm not from NY, but I do know the Half Pint is a local bar near NYU. And yes, I plucked Kev and V right out Chicago and put them right in NY! Mandy and Lip are soon to come, and also more Ezra! Thank you guys for your comments and for reading. :)


	5. To Smoke Out Our Demons - Part 1

“Wake up… _wake up_.”

A quick gasp for breath from pink lips, the air stingy, and two strong tattooed hands reflexively connected with his chest, open-palmed, almost pushing life out of his lungs.  _Almost_.  Ian stumbled backwards, quickly catching his footing nearly lost after attempting to wake up a distraught and dreaming Mickey.  _He’s screaming out loud now._

Sheets clung relentlessly to the older boy’s skin as he blindly fought the dark to the heavens, punching upwards in wild swings with his eyes still screwed shut.  The beads of sweat from a dream dreamt too many times acted as an adhesive to the fabric that would shade his pale, shamed body, jolted awake by that all too familiar feeling of falling and the new one of hands – _Ian’s hands_.

Kicking the shitty sheets off of him proved difficult, so Mickey gripped them tight, the ink in his knuckles stretching, and tore them away.  His arms were getting too short to box with his reveries, so waking up in a fit full of rage and too close to fear, was nothing new.  He breathed deeply placing the heels of his palms into his eyelids, then wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with his fingertips.  He sat up and swung his legs over to the side of his twin bed and placed his feet on the cold wooden floor, the sudden move from his laying down position throwing his equilibrium off.

He adjusted his eyes to the dark, the moonlight shedding barely enough light for him to see a shaky Ian bracing himself against the wall directly opposite his bed.  His eyes had the kind of look in them that said you’d just been through something startling enough to rid them of blinking and Mickey recognized that look in the younger boy’s eyes.  It was fear – plain and permeating. 

When you’ve experienced a certain emotion so many times, it becomes part of your line of vision, even the dark not being able to conceal the familiar face that smiles so sinister at an old friend.  Mickey wanted to slap the redhead’s face and tell him to _relax for fuck’s sake._ But the air in the room was too thick, and Mickey felt he could grip it with his hand and Ian was just trying to breathe it down.  _Breathe it down, but don’t choke on it._

“M-Mick, are you okay?”  Ian wished the hard wall would just, give.  He needed something to grip and hold on to because his own anxiety was nothing more than an oil-slicked rope.  _Hold on just to lose your grip and fall._ Mickey’s blue eyes pierced through the moonlit room, landing directly on Ian’s face.  The older boy was there, but was he _there_?  He was looking, but his gaze was empty.  “You there?”

“I’m here.”

“You were dreaming, and started scr –“

“I just need a cigarette.”  Mickey cut him off mid-word, cut right through _that_ word too heavy to hear.  Because Mickey doesn’t scream – he just doesn’t. 

“Um, ok.  I’ll grab you one.”  Ian made his way to his desk, pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds, the only kind he smoked, thanks to Lip.  He refrained from asking any further questions – just walked right around the elephant smack in the middle of the room.  He held up the pack and motioned for Mickey to make his way to the bay window on his side.  “Window.”

Smoking in the dorms was not allowed, but when you’re from Chicago, clouds of nicotine become part of your air supply and a force of habit becomes more than that – it becomes a force of nature.  So you bend the rules, find a way around them to please the addict, the rebel or the control freak, and Ian and Mickey were all of the above.

“Thanks,” Mickey said weakly.  Ian didn’t think the Milkovich boy could get anymore pale, but tonight proved his theory wrong.  What little color he contained had been drained from his skin, emphasizing the dark circles that had formed under his eyes.  He grabbed the lighter off of his desk, lit his own cigarette before offering the gesture to Mickey, the flame from the lighter casting a glow on his face.  It was still stained heavily with sweat and remnants of nightmares, and life in Chicago’s south side.  It was his mask and Ian wondered what Mickey _really_ looked like with it off.  _Blue eyes.  Soft face.  Smiling lips._ The older boy grabbed the lighter before the flame reflecting in his irises ignited and revealed what lied in the darkness behind blue eyes, and lit it himself.  “I can do it.”

Mickey didn’t look at Ian.  He didn’t speak.  He didn’t even throw a thought his way.  He just stared out the window, smoking in silence, Ian respecting his vulnerability at that moment and doing the same.  The two boys remained this way for several minutes, blowing smoke signals out the window, watching the gray clouds escape their mouths, dissipating into the New York City air. Ian wondered what it was that Mickey was breathing out, and if his every exhale of carcinogens was mixed with some sort of release – a spitting out of nightmarish aftertaste.

Ian _was_ curious.  And while he could be the figurative cat in this moment, he certainly was about to take his chances, and try to pick beneath the surface, just a little.  Perhaps he would land on his feet, or use one of his nine lives, because Mickey certainly did not look like the type who appreciated digging.

“Bad dream?”

“Bad life.”  Mickey was still staring out the window, pulling and blowing, his answer so matter of fact.  Ian noticed his hands tremble ever so slightly each time he brought the cigarette to his lips.  This was a topic he obviously never talked about.  _Wasn’t ready to talk about._

“Wanna talk about it?”

“What?”  Mickey was looking at him now, his blue eyes cold as ice, freezing the stare.  “And be your personal head case?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.  I just – “

“Look, I know what you’re gonna say.  That we all have our problems or some shit like that, and I don’t wanna hear it right now.”  Mickey took a long pull from his cigarette, blowing the smoke almost in the redhead’s face.

Ian looked away from Mickey, but not because of the smoke.  He couldn’t take that look in his eyes.  Ever since that night at the bar, he’d been extra _sensitive_ around the dark haired boy.  He was drawn to him and frightened of him all at the same time.  And it wasn’t the type of frightened where you fear what that person may do to you, rather what _you_ may do to that person.    

“Fair enough.”  And Ian was rigid.

“Fair enough when you give me something stronger than this cigarette.”

Ian was caught off guard by the comment.  Mickey threw it out so quick without warning, but the air was still so concentrated and processing anything was slow on the uptake.  The comment momentarily got stuck mid throw.

“I’m sorry?”

“I know you have something stronger, so let’s not beat around the bush.  What’s in the drawer?”  Mickey was so blunt, his words like daggers.  It’s a shocking thing – getting stabbed with blunt edges.  Ian’s eyes grew wide, then narrowed.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout.”

“I saw you that night after the bar.  You thought I was sleep, but I saw you take pills.”

“Aspirin,” Ian answered sharply.

“Bullshit.”

“You tell me your dreams, and I’ll tell you my disorders.”

Mickey didn’t respond to Ian right away, because fair is fair, and he wasn’t about to tell his roommate shit.  “Well then I guess this topic is squashed.”

“Squashed.”  Squashed, stomped through the floor and into the fucking foundation beneath it, only to penetrate earth and make its way to hell.  Ian wanted nothing more to do with a conversation that could possibly lead to an evaluation of his own sanity, which he’d like to think he had. 

The redhead continued to stare out the window, and as he finished off his cigarette, he pulled a second out of the pack.  He lit the tobacco, telling himself this moment called for another, gripping the stick tightly between his teeth causing the muscles in his jaw to dance.  Mickey remained silent, not surprisingly, but Ian didn’t know what to make of catching curious, blue eyes mid stare when he turned his head, only for lids to blink frantically and look away as if never staring at all.

****************************

 

“You know Thanksgiving is in two weeks, right?” 

Ian listened to the ruffling of papers in the background and the intermittent mumbling of words he couldn’t make out from his best friend’s mouth over the phone.  Ezra had called him in a panic over not being prepared for his Intro to Psychology midterm, a course he was taking because _it seemed easy enough for an elective at the time_.  He was now kicking himself for it, and Ian could practically hear shins crack from the figurative force of each blow.  He called Ian with a desperate spiel about _needing help_ , but _not being an idiot, he just couldn’t process Psychology like some._   Whatever.  Ian would gladly oblige.  Anything to avoid the coming conversation he knew would end badly.

“Yeah, I know when Thanksgiving is,” Ian answered nonchalantly.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“So are you coming home or what?” Ezra asked, the slight edge in his raspy voice an indicator that he knew he was probably talking to a wall at this point, and would have better luck trying to sell a Bible to an Atheist. 

“Nah, I’m staying on campus.”

“I knew it man,” Ezra answered lowly. 

“Then why’d you ask if you knew my answer?”

“Thought you’d be over it.”

Over it.  Ian was never _over it_.  Because you can’t be over something that you’ve been drowning _under_ for longer than you know.

 

_“Pass me those towels.”_

_Her slim body seemed to move faster than ever before, each stride in her step less frantic than earlier, and more calculated.  If she couldn’t keep the chaos inside her from placing her head in a clumsy mess, she would at least take control of her steps and make herself seem together.  It was all a lie._

_Fiona never allowed herself to just let go and unravel, because she knew keeping herself together meant the same for her younger siblings.  Jimmy, Fiona’s then fiancé looked at the disheveled brunette hesitantly, as if the next move would cause her to fall apart.  She was tearing at the seams now, and one wrong touch could ruin her – make her split right down the middle._

_“Fi, it’s okay, I can take care of this.”  Jimmy looked at her with pleading eyes.  “Maybe you should see to Debbie, Carl and Liam, get some rest.”_

_“Fine, I’ll grab them myself.  Ian, grab that bucket, fill it up with water and some bleach.”_

_Ian walked into the kitchen, the horror still splattered on the linoleum like a hideous painting.  The food and expensive china on the table even seemed effected by the display, the luster and inviting smells drained out, more than likely into the red on the floor, explaining why it was still so vibrant.  His stomach turned at the thought as he filled the bucket with warm water and bleach._

_“H-here you go Fi,” Ian said with shaky resolve.  He bent down on one knee, becoming eye level with his older sister.  He stuck his hand out to grab a towel and help clean what their mother left behind, only to be stopped by Fiona’s shaky hand.  He looked into her deep, brown eyes, filled with tears, and as he pulled back from her obvious protest, all he could do was watch her cry._

_Happy Thanksgiving._

“Lip is actually coming for Thanksgiving break,” Ian said to his best friend, reassuring the natural worrier that past ghosts that wrought themselves on the linoleum and in the walls, was _not_ the reason he was avoiding home.  Although he really was avoiding the residual things, Ezra didn’t need to know that and Lip _was_ actually coming.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, he said he knew I’d be staying on campus and this was an opportunity for him to come see New York.”

“So maybe I’ll see you next year never,” Ezra said sarcastically.

“There’s always Christmas break Ez.”

“Whatever man.”  Ezra began ruffling more papers in the background.  “So can you explain what all this Skinner stuff means?  You know, boxes, levers, rats and all that shit.”

Ian chuckled to himself, and it dawned on him how much he missed his best friend.  He was a sarcastic smartass just like him, and had a wit similar to Lip’s.  It was no surprise they’d hit it off almost instantly in Kindergarten.  He’d waltzed up to Ian, his curly brown hair bushy and disheveled, his hazel eyes big and round, bumping him on his shoulder and asked in a voice too raspy for a 5 year old, _“Why’s your hair so wed?”_ Ezra was still pronouncing his “r’s” as “w’s” at that time. 

Ian grabbed his Psychology textbook, and as he began flipping through the pages, the thunderous sound of the room door slamming caused his shoulders to jump from the loud _‘bang!_ ’.  Before he could turn around, a huge Chemistry textbook flew past his head, crashing into the wall.  The redhead turned in his chair, only to see an angry Mickey Milkovich frantically pacing back and forth, with his fists balled so tight, Ian was certain his fingers were digging holes into his white palms.   

“Better aim next time?” Ian said to the older boy.  “You almost took my head off.”

“Fuck!” Mickey screamed, obviously paying no mind to what his roommate just said.  He continued pacing back and forth, never looking at Ian.  This is what a madman must look like as he ponders how he’s going to kill his next victim.  His eyes were _wild_ and the way he was biting his bottom lip was certain to draw blood.  In fact, he looked as if he thirsted for it.

Ian turned his back to Mickey, and picked up his cell phone.  “Listen, Ez, I gotta call you back.”

“Ian, what the hell?”

“It’s my roommate.  He just came in here like a raging lunatic.  I need to see what his problem is and see that he calms down.”

“That south side asshole, huh?”  The question was rhetorical, the snide comment horrible and this caused Ian to wince.

“Dude, you know Frank and Monica grew up in the south side, right?”

“Whatever Ian.  Just call me back after you’ve dealt with the loose cannon.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“And you do?”  Ezra had a point, but Ian still felt the need, for some reason unknown and picking at his insides like a fucking parasite, to defend Mickey.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ever since he became your roommate, you’ve been blowing me off for him.”

“Are you jealous Ez?”  His best friend didn’t answer him right away, instead began obnoxiously ruffling more papers in the background.

“Fuck no Ian.”

“Just asking.  But I’ll help you later?”  Ian asked almost guiltily now.

“Sure thing.  Later Ian.”  _Click._ Ian knew Ezra hanging up before he could say bye meant that his best friend was upset.  He’d deal with that later.

Before Ian turned around, he thought carefully about what he should say to his roommate, given his unstable state.  The last thing he wanted to sound like was a therapist.  He noticed the absence of the sound of heavy boots on the wooden floor, which meant Mickey had stopped pacing.  When he turned around, he was startled by the cold stare of wild eyes _right_ over him.  Mickey was standing less than a foot away from Ian, the way he was towering over him making him seem 10 feet tall.  Ian finally stood, his 6’2” frame dominating the two stances.  The look in Mickey’s eyes – Ian didn’t know what to make of it.

“Your friend got a fucking problem with me?”  Ian was caught off guard by Mickey’s comment.  It took him a minute to get his thoughts together before he could respond.

“Wait – what?  No Mick, no one has a problem with you,” Ian answered, his voice full of hesitation.

“The fuck he doesn’t.  I heard you say to him _‘You don’t even know him.’_   What was that all about?”  Ok – Mickey was obviously angry about something, but Ian damn sure wasn’t going to let the older boy direct his anger towards Ezra, _or_ him.  Ian understood Mickey’s anger was misplaced, and given him being a witness of his gradual undoing, hence the worsening dream episodes like a few nights ago, the redhead would brush the irritation off like collected dust.  Ian refused to even entertain the question with an answer.

“What the fuck is your problem Mickey?”  Ian’s face hardened.  His voice was low and somewhat menacing, much to the older boy’s surprise. 

Mickey could see that this kid from the north side was tougher than he thought.  Somewhere between the look of innocence, contemplation and just plain goofy Ian always wore interchangeably on his face, was the look of someone who could hold his own – maybe even be a little bit _crazy_.  Mickey wanted to hit him, just did.  He was ready, his fists tightening again, an inked _FUCK_ ready for a new face to be carbon printed on.  But he thought better of it, and besides, none of what just happened was the kid’s fault.  He rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, and darted his eyes to the wooden floor.  “I was gonna get suspended today,” he said, more calm at this point.

“What?”  Ian’s green eyes widened.  “What the hell happened?”

“Broke some asshole’s nose.”  Mickey looked up, his eyes searching Ian’s, expectant, almost as if searching for some sort of approval or _judgment_.  Ian would offer him neither.

“What the hell for?”

“My Chem Professor posted our quiz averages so far so we could get an idea of how good we need to do on the midterm.  While I was searching for mine, there was some idiot jock surrounded by his meathead friends.”

_“So what’s your average Milkovich?  I mean, if you even have one.  How’d someone like you, practically from the gutter, get into NYU anyway?”_

_“_ He thought it was funny, so I squared up to the douche, looked him straight in his fucking eyes and said _“98”_ before connecting my fist with his pretty little face.  _That’s hi-larious.”_

“Are you serious Mickey?”  Ian looked at his roommate with absolute incredulity.  “They could’ve kicked you out.”

“Well they didn’t.”  Mickey swiped his thumb across his bottom lip again, a tick Ian was starting to know well.  “But now they’re threatening to take away my scholarship, saying that I have to go to mandatory sessions with a peer mentor, mediator or some shit if I wanna keep it.  My guidance counselor kept running her dumb fucking mouth about how I have to do this.  The University said I have two weeks to get started, which is the week after Thanksgiving break.”

“Well are you?”

“Fuck all I’m doing that shit.  I’m not gonna sit with some wannabe shrink.”

“Well you’ll lose your scholarship if you don’t.”

“So what.  I’ll just drop out.  I’m too smart for this place anyway.  I don’t need under-qualified Professors teaching me shit I can probably teach to them.  I’m not sitting with someone I don’t even know to talk about my feelings.”  Mickey threw up both hands forming quotation marks in the air, cradling the word _feelings_.

Ian looked at his roommate, studying the lines in his face that obviously came from frowning too much and one too many fights.  There was slight stubble that had grown along his chin and jaw line, forming a shadow, and Ian momentarily got distracted by thinking all he wanted to do was rub his thumb across it.  “Your decision dude,” Ian responded as he finally pried his eyes off of Mickey’s new scruffy jaw line.  “You know, it isn’t that bad.” 

“Yeah, right,” Mickey scoffed as he sat down on his bed, taking a cigarette out of his pocket.  It was crumpled and not in a package, the pieces of tobacco beginning to spill out – much like himself. 

As he attempted to straighten out the stick of nicotine, the paper tore, and he let out a heavy sigh before tossing it on his nightstand.  Before he could fix his mouth to ask for a cigarette, Ian was already standing over him, one in hand.  “Thanks,” he muttered lowly.  As he grabbed for the cigarette, the tips of his fingers brushed against Ian’s, lingering long enough to be uncomfortable and he could’ve sworn he _felt_ the younger boy shiver.  He quickly put the thought out of his mind and Ian darted his green eyes to the floor and backed away just as quickly.  

Before Mickey could reach for his lighter, vibrations began to go off in his other pocket.  He pulled out his cell phone, the screen reading _‘Mandy.’_  

“What?” Mickey answered impatiently.

“What else crawled up your ass?” his younger sister answered back, just as impatient.

“Nothin.  What do you want Mandy?  I just spoke to you not even an hour ago.”

“I’m calling to make sure they didn’t kick you out.”

“No, they didn’t, but I gotta go to peer mentoring or counseling, some shit like that.  Otherwise I lose my scholarship.” 

“Mickey what the fuck?” she spat.  “Well are you gonna do it?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh Mickey, c’mon!”  He could then hear the faint sound of shouting in the background.  “Hold on a sec.”  Mickey heard his sister set the phone down, followed by her screeching in the background, _‘Shut the fuck up!  I’m on the phone!’_ and her room door slamming loudly.  “Sorry I’m back.”

“What’s going on?”

“Iggy and Joey are arguing again over who the fuck knows.  They’re lucky dad’s out on a run, otherwise he’d have both their throats.”   

“Ay, can we continue this some other time?”  Mickey noticed his roommate sitting across the room, his feet perched up on his desk, just _staring_.  He was eating Pringles, each crunch annoying and loud.  The older boy shifted uncomfortably on his bed, then stood up and began walking back and forth as he talked to his sister.

“Whatever.  Just don’t forget I’m coming for Thanksgiving break.  You remember, right?”

Of course Mickey forgot.  _Shit._   Mandy had called him about two weeks ago pleading with him about how she _needs to get the fuck outta the south side for a while_ and since she knew he wasn’t coming anywhere near home for the holiday (not that they even had Thanksgivings at the Milkovich household), he should invite her for Thanksgiving break.  Mickey knew that was more like an order coming from his sister and she really wasn’t asking.  Milkovich’s didn’t ask.  He had tried to make up an excuse about not being able to afford a plane ticket, but Mandy quickly killed the excuse after telling him Iggy was going to buy it because he owed her big for a “favor” she did for him a while back.  Mickey didn’t even want to know what that favor was.

“Of course I didn’t forget,” Mickey lied.

“Liar,” Mandy replied.  His sister could tell because Mickey was always a terrible liar.  And even though she couldn’t see him swiping his thumb across his bottom lip (one of his tell tale signs that he was either lying or nervous), she could hear it in his voice.  “Whatever.  Doesn’t matter.  Just be ready when I get there and don’t you dare think I’m sleeping on the fucking floor.  I’ll be using your bed.”

“Whatever,” Mickey snorted.  That was his way of saying he of course would take the floor and she would take his bed.  He could practically hear her smirking through the phone.

Mandy cleared her throat, and paused before breathing deeply.  Mickey recognized the sound, and he imagined she was probably twirling her dark hair.  The quiet before the storm – an inevitable Mandy moment where the question she was about to ask was guaranteed to pick at your skin. 

“So uh, does your roommate know?” Mandy asked after a few seconds of awkward silence. 

Mickey’s stomach dropped and he suddenly snapped his head towards his roommate, the crunch of each chip getting louder, the smirk Mickey thought he saw on his freckled face making him paranoid.  The older boy cradled his phone closer to his collarbone, almost convinced Ian could hear his sister.

“You serious right now?  Are you really tryin’ to talk about this?”  Mickey’s pacing picked up speed.    

And it was like home all over again. 

He darted his blue eyes over his shoulder, suddenly convinced he had to shield himself.

Mickey knew where Mandy was going with this, but would he go there too?

No fucking way.

Mickey shifted in his skin, literally shifted.  It felt like his muscle and bones were trying to detach, exposing everything he fought so hard to keep concealed all his life.  Mandy was a professional bone collector, and dammit if she wasn’t the sole owner of Mickey’s personal bag of secrets and dried marrow.  It was death he brought to this part of himself, and since the closet was too small for his skeletons, his sister made it her job to add them to her collection.

“So, that means he doesn’t know.”  _She was digging now._

“What the fuck ever.  I’m not talking about this.” 

“You do know you’re not in the south side anymore, right?”

“Bye Mandy.”

“But – “

“I said bye!”  He hung up before his sister could respond, and he knew there would be hell to pay when she came, but he didn’t have two fucks to give at this point. 

As he put down his phone, he turned his attention to his roommate who was still eating Pringles, except now he was at the bay window also smoking a cigarette.  Mickey waltzed over to him.

“Stare enough?” he asked the redhead.

Ian didn’t respond to the question, just rolled his pretty green eyes and held up his lighter.  “Light?”  Mickey still had yet to light his cigarette.  He nervously held it up, his movements shifty and questionable.  Ian paid the awkwardness no mind.

“Thanks.”  The older boy this time leaned into the flame Ian was holding, lighting the nicotine. 

Ian tried not to notice the way his cheeks hollowed as he sucked to get the cigarette lit.  “So was that your sister on the phone?”

“Yeah.  She’s coming for Thanksgiving break.”

“Really?”  Ian smirked, taking a drag off of his cigarette.  This was becoming a thing for him and his roommate, smoking carelessly out of the window while having meaningless conversations – to smoke out their demons and chew the fat.  They both knew they were too young and smoked too much, but the pastime made loud nerves silent in the midst of issues and the disquiet.  Mickey noticed Ian’s grin.

“What you smirkin’ for?”

“Well, Lip is coming too.  I’m not going home, so he’s coming here.” 

Mickey was blowing smoke rings out into the air as Ian said this, something Ian never saw him do before.  “Well, looks like we’re gonna have a full house then.”  He then stubbed out his cigarette and grabbed the can of Pringles out of Ian’s hand without asking, shoving a mouthful of chips into his mouth, crumbs falling to the floor, then scoffed loudly.  “Fucking sour cream n’ onion?  Next time get barbeque.”  He walked across the room, Ian’s eyes following each stride of his wild steps.

“So classy you are.  I’ll remember that for next time,” the younger boy responded before stubbing out his own cigarette.  He plopped on his bed, landing on his stomach and looked across the room.  Mickey was removing his sweater, revealing a gray tank top underneath.  As Ian studied his back muscles and the curve of his shoulders, the older boy turned, meeting his stare.  The redhead quickly looked away and to avoid any awkwardness, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. 

“So…who’s getting the turkey?”  _Getting careless now._


	6. To Smoke Out Our Demons - Part 2

“So I’ll be arriving around 6:00pm.” 

Mandy’s voice sounded extra groggy, almost as if she hadn’t slept in days.  But it wasn’t the lack of zest in her voice that worried Mickey, rather it was the excess of melancholy that seemed to wrap itself around her vocal chords.

“Yeah, ok.  Hey, are you doin’ alright?” he asked, his throat scratchy.  He didn’t know if it was from too many cigarettes or the lack of sleep he’d been getting lately, but the tickling sensation caused him to start coughing. 

“You smoke way too much,” his sister responded.  “And I’m fine Mickey.”  He could practically hear her chewing her lip through the receiver.  He’d believe her for now.

“Well I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Ok.  And don’t think I forgot about you hangin’ up on me last time.”  The attempt to add pep into her voice was a pathetic one.  Nonetheless, she was a Milkovich, and Mickey knew despite whatever it was going on in her mind, that wouldn’t stop her from bringing him a nice smack to the back of the head when she arrived.

“Later.”  Before he could even properly end the call, he was already reaching for a cigarette.

The days approaching Thanksgiving break were a blur of midterms, caffeine, cigarettes and barely any food.  Sleep was a myth.  Mickey was operating on less than four hours of it a day from studying, and Ian was barely in the dorms from the hours he was putting in at the Health Center and almost sleeping in the library from his own study sessions with Simon, Sanai and Jessica.  Mickey hated libraries surprisingly.  Too fucking quiet.  He preferred to study in the dormitory common room.  Growing up in his household had him accustomed to noise, so too much quiet was more distracting to him – he could hear _everything_ in the recesses of his mind, and that was something he wanted to avoid.

It was the day before break, which was also the last day of midterms, and all of the chaos around campus was starting to calm down.  Students were either packing, getting ready to go home for the next five days, or were already heading out.  The sight was familiar to Mickey – the minivans and Stepford wives had returned, their beer-bellied husbands once again trying to carry more than their girth allowed.  Mickey smirked as he looked out the bay window on Ian’s side of the room, pulling in, exhaling gray clouds out.  He really did smoke way too much for an 18 year old, _maybe_. 

He had just finished his last midterm, Chemistry, less than an hour ago, which he blew through in all of 30 minutes.  When he handed his exam to his Professor, he looked at the dark haired boy with a suspicious look.  Mickey’s face said _“fuck off”_ before he stormed out the doors, not trying to be subtle about it.  You get to be a dick when you’re a genius – or in his case, Mickey Milkovich.

As he continued to fill his lungs with smoke, the sound of Ian and a few guests caused him to turn around.  With his roommate were Simon, Sanai and Jessica.  Sanai instantly plopped onto Ian’s bed, landing flat on her back, her big, curly afro spreading out almost like a fan when she landed.  She crossed her legs at the ankles and kicked off her bright green Converse sneakers revealing neon striped toe socks.  The girl was a walking rainbow.  Jessica instantly batted her eyelashes at Mickey, offering him a flirtatious grin, and Simon took out his iPad, and instantly started scrolling through his Spotify account.  Ian made his way over to the window, and like a true nicotine addict, grabbed a cigarette.  As he inhaled the smoke into his lungs, Mickey noticed his face instantly relax.

“Finally done!” Sanai screeched.  “I can’t wait to go out tonight.  I’m so ready to unwind.”  Mickey laughed at how she almost looked like she was about to start making snow angels on the twin bed the way she was stretched out.  Jessica made her way to the bed, and sat where there was a space on the other side, facing Mickey and Ian.

“So when’s Lip getting in?” Jessica asked Ian as she twirled her wavy blonde hair, even though she was still eyeing Mickey.  The dark haired boy rolled his eyes, and looked back out the window, ignoring her obvious invitations to flirt.  Mickey hated flirting.  He hated girls who came off as way too thirsty even more.  Ian caught a glimpse of what was taking place and just shook his head smiling.

“His flight lands in about two hours.”  He looked at his watch, and the time was 4:15pm.  Lip’s flight was scheduled to arrive at 6:30pm.  “What time is Mandy getting in?” Ian turned his attention to Mickey.

“Six o’clock.”

“Who’s Mandy?” Jessica asked, and Ian wasn’t sure if that was curiosity in her voice, or protest.  Mickey just didn’t give a fuck.  Her crush was nauseating.  Before the older boy could answer, Ian chimed in.

“His sister.  She’ll be here for Thanksgiving break too.”

“Oh,” Jessica answered sounding almost relieved.  “Well I’m glad I’ll get to meet her and your brother Lip before I leave tomorrow morning.”  Jessica was going back home to Kansas for Thanksgiving.  _Thank God_ Mickey thought.

“Speaking of going home, when are you guys leaving for Harlem?” Ian asked the twins.

“We’ll be headin’ over there tomorrow afternoon,” Simon answered bopping his head with one ear bud in, listening to probably N.E.R.D. or Kanye West.  His hair was cut in this weird, but cool fade with a line through the side, and Mickey thought the shape of it reminded him of Gumby.  His voice was always deeper than Mickey remembered.  The guy didn’t talk much, and Mickey appreciated that since Sanai was so damned chatty.

“So are you and Mandy coming out with us tonight?” Sanai asked, finally sitting up.  “Ian and Lip are coming.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Mickey answered.

“Well now we will just have to see!” she screeched, her hoop earrings swaying against her big hair.  “I know she’s gonna crave to hit the streets.  It’s her first time in the NY, and what girl doesn’t want to hit the town as soon as she gets here?”  Mickey wished Sanai would shut her big mouth, but she was probably right.  Mandy jumped at going out every chance she got, and he knew she would be down once she heard about the Half Pint and how they wouldn’t get ID’d, just like the Alibi back home.  Only difference was, there would actually be College kids at the Half Pint, and not the local vagabonds, drunks and criminals.

“C’mon Mick.  I promise I won’t get as drunk as last time,” Ian said sarcastically.  Mickey wanted to wipe that shit eating grin off of his face – wipe it off and put it somewhere he couldn’t see it.

“Whatever.”  Mickey grabbed another cigarette out of _Ian’s_ pack, and flicked his lighter.  Ian knew that was his way of saying “Ok.”  He smiled that grin again, Mickey _feeling_ it on the side of his face, and somehow snaking its way into the pit of his stomach, despite not seeing it.  When he turned his head towards his roommate, he hadn’t even looked away, but was still beaming, this time with the cigarette held between his teeth, the nicotine creating a thin veil of smoke around his face.  Even the smoke couldn’t hide the redhead’s green eyes, gleaming and wide.  Mickey couldn’t help but think how gay it was that he even noticed it.

About an hour and a half later, Simon, Sanai and Jessica left, saying they would meet up later at the Half Pint.  Ian had already gotten a text from Milo saying he would eventually make his way there after packing.  His train for Boston was leaving the next day. 

Ian and Mickey caught a cab, making their way to the airport.  Mandy would be arriving first, followed by Lip a half hour later.  The cab ride was silent for the most part, the only noise really being Ian chatting away (as usual), going on and on about how much he thought Mickey and Lip would get along, about his brother also being a genius and a great hustler.  The more Ian talked about his family, the more Mickey felt like the Gallaghers weren’t north side natives, but south side transplants.  He didn’t ask the redhead much, but after piecing together what little he got from the random facts about his family, it sounded like Frank came into a shit load of inheritance money from an Aunt named Ginger after she died.  It also made sense when he said to his best friend the other day, something about _“Frank and Monica growing up in the south side.”_   Mickey didn’t ask, just put things together, because he didn’t ask questions – you never got the answer you wanted in his experience anyway.

“So I-uh, lived in the south side of Chicago until I was almost four.  Not that I remember much.”

Mickey looked at Ian and wondered what it was he was looking for, saying that fact about himself.  Mickey pretty much pieced it together already, and could care less really.  “So what are you lookin’ for, approval?”

Ian’s eyebrows furrowed.  “No, I just thought I’d share that with you.  But forget I said anything.”  The redhead looked out the window, placing his chin in the palm of his hand. 

“Ay, look,” Mickey started out.  He didn’t know why he even felt bad.  “Stop being so sensitive.  What do you want, a congratulations?  Last time I checked, growing up in the south side was no trophy.”

“I just – “ Ian stopped mid sentence. 

“Spit it out.”

“Just thought I’d try to find some common ground between us.”  Mickey didn’t respond, because the ground he traversed was never common with anyone he’s ever crossed paths with.  The cracks were too wide and splattered with violence and the demons that fed off of it.  Common ground?  Anyone would be better off taking the road less traveled – by any Milkovich.  “And I know what you’re thinking,” Ian continued.  “But we probably have more in common than you think.”

And with that, Mickey just scoffed.  _Right._

**********

The airport was crowded and Mickey was annoyed.  The place looked like the fucking Pilgrims threw up all over the place, the corridors tackily decorated with turkeys, cornucopias and fall leaves.  He looked down at his phone.  5:50pm.  According to the flight schedules, Mandy’s flight was arriving on time.

As he sat in the uncomfortable airport chair, his leg danced from a beast of a craving for a cigarette.  His heavy black boots seemed to rattle from the commotion in his legs.  He contemplated stepping outside for a smoke, but his indecisiveness was interrupted when he noticed Ian walking over with two coffee cups in his hands.  The redhead, obviously excited about his older brother’s pending arrival, looked so content walking over, his red hair, growing out now, bright and coordinated with the décor in the airport.  His black leather bomber was partly zipped revealing a royal blue v-neck shirt, and his black matching ankle boots halfway tied and flaring open at the base of his dirty denim skinny jeans made him look like one of the freak shows in the J. Crew catalogs.  _Fucking north side pretty boy._

“Here,” Ian said as he held out one of the cups towards Mickey before taking the seat next to him.

“The hell’s this?” 

“Double shot Latte,” the younger boy answered before taking a sip of his drink.  “Figured you’d need it.  Caffeine helps keep the nicotine cravings at bay, at least temporarily.  Regular coffee wouldn’t be strong enough.”

“A latte?  Fucking gay.”  Ian grimaced at the statement, then just rolled his eyes, smirked and shook his head when Mickey took a sip.  “How do you know I’m craving smokes?”  Mickey was challenging his roommate.  It was almost a defense mechanism, almost like he had to seem hard to cover the soft parts he didn’t want exposed – all the while sipping the espresso and steamed milk.

Ian glanced down at Mickey’s restless leg.  “By your twitching leg.  I get that often, especially when I’m nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

Ian didn’t respond, just smiled into his cup as he sipped.  Mickey was like a little kid in a Dentist’s office.  He didn’t know why the older boy was nervous and obviously uncomfortable, his blue eyes darting around everywhere, his bottom lip severely abused by his teeth.  It couldn’t be because his sister was coming.  Ian wondered.

About ten minutes later as both boys sat, sipping in silence, Mickey almost jumped out of his seat from his vibrating phone in his pocket.  Mickey never had a ringtone on.  He hated ringtones.

“Mandy?” he answered.  Ian couldn’t make out what the girl was saying on the other end, but he could hear her, her voice carrying enough to tell she had landed and was excited.  Mickey, standing now, looked down at Ian.  “She’s on her way to baggage claim.”

They stood in silence, watching the luggage lazily go around the conveyor belt as anxious men, women and children grabbed up their belongings and ran over to loved ones nearby, clinging for dear life to necks and waists. 

“Too bad I didn’t bring my sign,” Ian laughed.  Mickey shot the younger boy an amused glance.

“Nah, good thing,” Mickey snorted.  “My sister would’ve snatched it and ripped it to shreds.”

It didn’t take long for Mickey to spot her, and it didn’t take long for Ian to either, weirdly.  Through the crowd stormed Mandy, her impatience obvious and the famous Milkovich sneer painted across her face.  Mickey laughed to himself.  His sister hated crowds just as much as he did.  “There she is,” Mickey pointed.

But pointing was not necessary because Ian spotted her the moment he saw her, just as he did Mickey over three months ago.  She was a spitting image of Mickey, her hair just as dark, skin almost as pale, and her eyes obviously blue.  They could’ve passed for twins really.  Her bangs touched the top of her eyelids, covering her eyebrows, and the rest of her hair fell messily past her shoulders.  She was skinny, but her presence was big and Ian could only guess it was a family trait.  Her black jeans were ripped at the knees, and her Converse sneakers looked like they had painted pictures on them, obviously not professionally done.  She finally grabbed her bag, her oversized gray sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, and must have spotted Mickey because she started grinning and picked up her pace.  As she got closer, Ian could make out a hooped nose ring and a shitload of eyeliner and mascara.  Nevertheless, she was a pretty girl.

“Hey douche bag,” she greeted her brother.  An obvious warm greeting, because Mickey smiled back.  Mickey fixed his mouth to say something in return, but was stopped short when his sister suddenly slammed an open palm to the back of his head, _hard_.  “That’s for hangin’ up on me.”

“Ow!  Mandy what the fuck!”  Mickey rubbed the back of his head, his frown countering his sister’s grin.

“And you smell like barbecue sauce,” she said to her brother, her nose crinkled in obvious disgust.

Mickey smirked, then grabbed at her left breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and index finger, then began to twist.  Mandy’s grin quickly turned into a scowl.

“Ow!  What did dad tell you?  No titty twisters now that I’m a C-cup!”  Mandy grabbed a handful of her brother’s dark hair and pulled.

“C-cup?  Bitch you wish,” Mickey responded as he smoothed his hair back into place.  Ian couldn’t help but laugh at the brother-sister bonding he was witnessing.

“And what the fuck is this?” Mandy asked halfway laughing, pointing to Mickey’s jaw line.

“It’s called facial hair.”

“You look like a Neanderthal.”

“Whatever,” Mickey scoffed.  “Big word for you, ain’t it?”  Mandy rolled her eyes at her brother, ignoring his comment, turning her attention to Ian, who was standing silently with his hands in his pockets.  She smiled at him, the blue in her eyes seeming to sparkle and Ian couldn’t help but to see Mickey all over her.  

“So, you must be Ian,” she said to the redhead as she coyly placed her hands behind her back.

“Yeah,” Ian responded as he extended his hand.  “It’s nice to finally meet you.”  Mandy delicately shook his hand.  Her hands were boney, the black nail polish on her short fingernails chipped.

“Likewise.”  She shot Mickey a glance, then looked back at Ian, a devilish grin forming in the corners of her mouth.

“So my brother Lip will be arriving in the next fifteen minutes,” Ian said to both Mickey and Mandy.  He began to make his way back to the seats in the airport, walking a few steps ahead of the siblings, giving them their time to talk a catch up.  When he turned around, Mandy was leaning in towards her brother, obviously whispering something she found amusing, given the giant grin on her face, all the while looking directly at Ian.  The redhead awkwardly smiled then turned around, but not before Mickey’s eyes caught his.

“Jesus Mickey!” Mandy loudly whispered to her brother.  “Your roommate is fucking beautiful!”

 “Lower your fucking voice would ya?”

“You didn’t tell me you were living with J. Crew, page 34!”  She nudged him playfully in his side.  Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed.

“And why would I tell you that shit?”

Mandy raised her eyebrows.  “C’mon Mickey, don’t play dumb.”

“Ay, fuck you right now.”  Mickey shot his eyes towards Ian then scratched his eyebrow, and Mandy beamed at the sight.  She was about to call his bluff, and he knew it.  He could practically feel his sister, evil, playfully tugging at the knots in his stomach.  _Bitch._

“Wait,” Mandy started before bringing her boney hand to her chin.  “Is he even?  Shit.”  She paused for a moment.  It was like a light bulb went off in her head, and Mickey hated how dumb his sister was with practically everything – except him.  With him, she was pretty much a genius.

“Does he know Mickey?”  And there it was again.  The question and Mickey wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere and stay there.  The only thing he knew to do was to play dumb.

“Know what?” he said worriedly.  “That I have bad dreams?” 

“No Mickey, not that.”  Mandy stopped so they wouldn’t be within an earshot of Ian, who was sitting down now, looking in his phone.  “That you’re gay.”  And Mickey’s insides twisted at the sound of his sister’s voice.  He wished she would just shut the fuck up, because this was the deal breaker – never talk about his sexual preferences, or really, secrets.  But of course she continued.  “Because the look you get in your eye, _that_ look, says you may have a thing for this guy.”

Mickey simply scowled at his sister and thought she better thank the gods she wasn’t Iggy or Joey, and didn’t have a dick between her legs, because the sound of bone cracking under his knuckles would’ve calmed his festering anger at this moment.  “Fuck off,” he said in almost a growl, and stormed off towards the airport chairs.  Ian didn’t think anything of it, when Mickey decided to sit three seats down from him. 

****************

It was sickening.  All of it.  Mickey thought he would puke all over the floor any moment at the two people next to him, and God he hoped some would splash all over his sister – and Ian.

They had been in the airport for over thirty minutes now because Lip’s flight was delayed.  His sister and his roommate were all smiles and giggles, exchanging glances that Mickey almost thought was flirting, except Mandy wasn’t acting like a slut and Ian was being way too cordial.  The two had taken to each other so quickly.  It was like they’d known each other for years – like long lost BFF’s or some shit.  They were acting like he wasn’t even there, and even when he huffed out a loud, annoyed breath ever so often, all they did was look at him and begin giggling like two little girls.  “Pussies,” Mickey groaned under his breath.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lip finally texted Ian, letting him know he had landed.  Mandy was just as excited as Ian when he read the text, and Mickey was annoyed by that.  He rubbed both hands across his face, and felt someone lightly poke him in his shoulder.  It was Ian, standing over him.

“Walk with us to meet Lip?” he asked the older boy.

“Nah, I’ll wait here.”  Mickey sounded cold when he said this, causing Ian to frown.

“K, suit yourself.”  Ian went over to Mandy who was practically bursting at the seams.  Mickey watched as they walked towards the baggage claim like a fucking married couple.  He squinted his blue eyes, a headache creeping its way up the back of his head, and Mickey realized how tense he had been.  He was dying for a cigarette.

About ten minutes later, he spotted his sister and his roommate walking back, accompanied by a third person, apparently Lip – who wasn’t what Mickey expected.  Instead of someone of similar height and hair color, Lip was a lot shorter than Ian, about the same height as himself Mickey guessed.  He had semi-curly, dark dirty blonde hair, eyes just as blue as his own and a smug expression that looked as if it was etched in his face.  He looked _nothing_ like Ian, although, they did have similar mannerisms.  The look on Ian’s face was almost childlike.  He was so happy to see his brother, and something inside Mickey’s gut twisted at the smile, the glimmer in his eye, and the carefree way he outwardly loved his brother.  He quickly pushed the gnawing feeling out of the pit of his stomach when the three were finally standing in front of him.  Mandy quickly shot him a glance, her face screaming _‘you better be nice asshole.’_

“Hey Mick,” Ian started, his voice almost a pitch higher.  “This is my brother Lip.  Lip, this is my roommate Mickey.”

“’Sup Mickey,” Lip said to him, as he nodded his head.  Simple.  Quick.  Uncomplicated.  No hand shake, just a quick nod of the head.  Mickey liked him already, he thought.  He hated shaking anyone’s hand, and he was glad Lip didn’t extend the gesture.

“’Sup.”

“So Ian here tells me you’re quite the wiz kid,” Lip commented.

“Something like that.  I hear the same about you.”

“Something like that.”  Lip smirked, and Mickey couldn’t help but notice how his sister was practically drooling over Lip, her eyelashes going crazy and her bib obviously missing.  Mickey just snorted.  And after she talked about how hot Ian was.  He didn’t understand his sister sometimes.

As they all made their way outside, Mickey tugged on the sleeve of Mandy’s sweatshirt, pulling her back so that they were walking a ways behind Ian and Lip.  She gave him an annoyed glance.

“What the hell Mickey?”

“Stop acting like a slut.”  Mandy’s eyes widened, then squinted.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”  Her voice was low, and dangerous.

“You were all smiles and giggles with Ian, now you’re practically drooling over his brother.”

“Are you serious right now?”  Mandy got closer to Mickey until their faces were an inch apart.  This is what she did when she wanted to get a point across.  She was smirking instead of frowning.  “Listen, I’m a big girl, so mind your own fucking business.  Also, your roommate Ian, not even remotely interested in me.”

“What you getting at?” Mickey asked, and he wished he didn’t.

“Totally gay,” she said still smirking.  Mickey felt his stomach flip and suddenly he felt stupid.

“How the fuck do you know?  He tell you that?”

“No,” she laughed.  “I knew it almost immediately.  Most guys are pretty much all over me when they meet me, not even looking at my face when they talk to me for scanning my body so much.  Ian didn’t do that.  He shook my hand.  He was a total sweetheart.  Plus, I caught him sneaking glances at you.”

“Fuck you.  You don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Of course I do Mickey.  When I first met Lip, he could barely concentrate on my face for checking me out, which I didn’t mind cuz he’s hot too.”  She looked around her brother to the Gallagher brothers now outside calling for a cab.  “Deny it if you want.  But, no one is blind here, expect maybe you.”  She walked past him, hitting his shoulder with hers as she made her way outside. 

Mickey cursed under his breath.  His sister was so much smarter than people gave her credit for.  _‘Bitch’_ was all Mickey could think as he followed behind her.


	7. To Smoke Out Our Demons - Part 3

“Here’s to the good stuff.”  Lip slightly tilted his head backward, slowly blowing gray, smoky tendrils out of the bay window.

Leave it to the good weed to put Mickey in a good mood.  Usually, that was all he needed, and Lip certainly had it.  After a cab ride that took longer than it should have, Mickey craved more than a cigarette, and bless the older Gallagher for using his industry to smuggle that shit in.  How he did it?  Mickey wasn’t sure, but he could care less because the high was too good and the stupid looks on Ian and Mandy’s faces were priceless.  But Lip and his sister were looking way too _comfortable_ with each other, and Mickey told himself he would deal with that later, once the good weed wore off.

That is until the younger Gallagher looked at him _that_ way.

Paranoia is a bitch, more so than his own sister.  Maybe it was the high, but Mickey caught a flash of green in his line of view, behind barely blinking lids and blown pupils that refused to look away.  There was a lazy grin tucked in the corners of his mouth, and yes, Ian was high, but the stare was far from it - sober and dipped in _need_.  The awkward moment was interrupted by his brother, which couldn’t have come at a better time because Mickey found himself pinned by a look that should have sent him off the deep end.

“So I say we get this road on the show?” Lip said in a high stupor.

“Don’t you mean _show on the road?”_ Mandy responded, her grin reaching her ears now.  Lip shot her a look Mickey knew would translate into something more after hours.

“Mmmm,” Lip hummed through smoke filled nostrils.  “Nope.  Road on the show.”  Ian began to giggle, fucking _giggle_ , and Mandy quickly followed suit.  Mickey’s ears burned, and suddenly he thought he wasn’t high enough.

Outside, the air was getting brisk, November a clear reminder that winter was around the corner.  The foursome made their way to the Half Pint, and somewhere between a crosswalk and a blaring horn, Ian bumped his shoulder into Mickey’s, that lazy grin from his high picking at Mickey’s eyes.  _Does he know?_   Mickey ignored the action and sped up his pace.  Space was needed as curiosity was a beguiling call to death – just like beauty.

When they arrived, the whole gang was already there amongst other drunken College kids.  Sanai and Veronica were already on the dance floor, shaking their hips to some horrendous club song, and Simon was in the DJ Booth with his friend who was the DJ for the night.  Jessica and Milo were at the bar chatting away with Kevin, who was overly animated as usual. 

The place was packed, and Mickey hated crowds.  His sister however, too high on weed and the scent of the older Gallagher seemed to not notice, gliding right through the haze of guys and girls, and Mickey caught a glimpse of her holding onto the tail of Lip’s jacket, obviously guiding her.  They both made their way to the bar where Ian was already standing next to Milo, and Jessica began to frantically fluff her hair with her hands after obviously spotting Mickey.  Instead of paying attention to the blonde female, Mickey paid more attention to the way Milo moved to stand behind Ian at the bar, pressing his chest against the redhead’s back, while he looped his index finger through one of Ian’s belt loops.  He was obviously drunk, and Ian too high to care they were too close for comfort – so Mickey thought.  He made his way and stood next to Mandy, who was still clinging to Lip’s jacket.  If it wasn’t for the twisting in Mickey’s gut when he saw Ian turn around to face Milo, placing their faces less than an inch apart, and him biting his own lip as his green eyes quickly scanned the brunette in front of him before pulling away, Mickey would’ve been annoyed by his sister’s clinginess to the older Gallagher.  The obvious flirtation going on between Ian and Milo quickly intercepted that.

************************************************************

“What the fuck is wrong with Mickey?” Mandy asked as her and Lip made their way into the room, carrying two cases of beer.  Ian was in a trance.  He didn’t answer, only stared at the wooden floor.  Lip knew that look on his brother’s face.  _Something_ just went down.  “Ian?”

“Huh?”  The redhead finally came to.

“I said what the fuck is wrong with Mickey?  Me and Lip almost crashed into him just now.  He was storming down the street, and when I asked him what was his problem, he told me to fuck off.”

“We had a, uh – “ Ian cut himself off to grab a cigarette and made his way to the window.  He lit the nicotine and inhaled deep, before exhaling his response.  “Misunderstanding.”

The happenings of the Half Pint last night certainly followed Ian back to the dorm, even when he chose not to carry them there.  Thanksgiving just wasn’t his holiday.

******************************************************

“Everyone!” Ian loudly exclaimed, his high now at its peak.  “This is my big bro Lip.  Lip, this is – well, everyone!”  Milo and Jessica introduced themselves, followed by Sanai, Simon and V, and Mickey found it amusing when his sister clinched tighter to Lip’s jacket, moving in a little closer, as Jessica introduced herself.  An obvious territorial move, but the blonde had her eyes on another territory.

“Hey Mickey,” Jessica said in her most flirtatious voice.

“Hey,” he answered dryly before turning his back to the blonde.  He couldn’t see her look of disappointment.  “Ay yo Kev!  Let me get a Jack n’ coke.”

“Coming right up!”  Kevin began making Mickey’s drink.

“Make that two!” Ian echoed.  Mickey glanced over at his roommate, who didn’t look away when the older boy noticed he had beaten him to the punch.

After one too many Jack n’ cokes, Mandy found herself drunk and dancing stupidly on the floor with V, Sanai and Jessica, who joined the two after trying to coerce Mickey into dancing with her.  Mickey shoved her delicate hands from around his waist, as she tried to move him with her to the floor.  Mickey told Jessica he doesn’t dance – with anyone.  Lip and Ian were laughing and talking about stupid stories from home next to him when this happened, both somewhat drunk as well, but the look Lip gave Mickey was inquisitive to say the least.  And just when the current mood couldn't get any heavier, Milo appeared from out of dance floor crowd, making his way to Ian.  He stood behind the redhead, close, _too close_ , and began grinding his hips into the back of Ian in sync with the shitty techno beat, eliciting a guttural laugh from the younger boy who turned and playfully pushed him away.  Mickey frowned and downed his fourth drink.  

“Gotta take a leak,” Mickey spat as he stormed off to the bathroom.  Milo made his way back to the dance floor as Ian watched Mickey walk away.  Lip turned to chat with his brother.

“So uh, your roommate, Mickey.  You like living with him?” Lip asked.  The tone in his voice was familiar, and Ian knew he was having one of his _genius_ moments.

“Yeah, I guess.  Why?” 

“Just asking.  He’s a quiet character.  Interesting.”  Lip scratched the side of his head and squinted his eyes.  This was something he always did when he knew he had figured something out.  “You like him?”

“What?  Why are you askin’ me this right now?”  Ian was way too drunk for this.

“C’mon Ian, I know you.  Besides the looks you’ve been giving the guy haven’t been too subtle.”

“Lip, he’s straight.”  Ian looked at his brother, deep in thought now, and wasn’t he too drunk to be this smart right now?  Lip began shaking his head as he smirked.  “What Lip?”

“Nah,” he began before taking a sip of his drink.  He winced at the alcohol going down as he was drinking Jack Daniels straight now.  “Total fag.  No offense.”

“What the fuck are you talking about Lip?”  Ian felt his stomach flip when his brother said that.

“Mickey, your roommate.  Gay.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Judging by the way he’s been looking at you since the fucking airport, I’d say I do.”  Lip squinted his eyes again, then pointed to Jessica on the dance floor.  “And your beautiful blonde friend over there.  She’s been throwing herself at him all night, only to be rejected.”

“Whatever Lip.  I’m too drunk for your theories right now.”  Lip ignored his brother’s protest and continued with his moment of enlightenment.

“At first I wasn’t sure given he’s in no way obvious.  But his continuous and easy rejection of Barbie over there, and how he pretty much eyeballed the way Milo’s been all over you solidified my suspicion.”  Ian didn’t want to believe his brother, but maybe he was right.  Besides, Lip just wasn’t book smart, he was _people_ smart, and was rarely wrong.  “Just be careful with that one little brother.  Because I’m sure a guy like that will certainly _fuck you up_.”  Lip pointed towards his own knuckles, apparently referencing Mickey’s crude tattoo.

A few minutes later Mickey made his way back to the bar.  Just as he stood next to Lip, and not Ian, a drunk Mandy made her way over to Lip.

“Dance with me!” she said loudly while still moving to the beat.  Lip wasn’t a dancer, but he gladly obliged, and disappeared into the mess of people.   

Mickey avoided eye contact with Ian, but could _feel_ the younger boy’s stare scratching and picking at the side of his face.  He needed air, and a cigarette.  He tapped his jean pocket to make sure his smokes were there, and quickly made his way outside.

The concrete wall against the muscles in his back felt cold and harsh, but somehow relaxing to Mickey.  It was something solid, known and unmovable, and this grounded Mickey.  He had made his way to the small alley on the side of the bar.  As he sucked in his favorite thing, he heard the shuffling of footsteps coming around the bend.  Before he could think this may be a mugger, that familiar voice suddenly made his stomach drop.  There was no explanation as to why Ian Gallagher had these little effects on him.

“Can I bum a smoke?” Ian asked as he walked up to Mickey.  The single light above where Mickey was standing casted a beam of light onto his roommate’s face.  Ian was drunk, but not nearly as drunk as the last time.  He smiled lazily at Mickey and the thump in the middle of his own chest startled him.  “I forgot mine at the dorm and I’m dying for a smoke.”

Mickey didn’t say anything, just reached in his pack, and handed one to the redhead.  Again their fingers brushed, and it wasn’t Ian this time who shivered, but he certainly noticed it. 

“Light?” he asked Mickey.  The older boy pulled out his lighter and handed it to Ian.  “What, you’re not gonna do it for me?” he laughed.

“Fuck off,” Mickey responded.

“You say that a lot.  I’m beginning to think you mean the opposite.”

Ian leaned up against the wall next to Mickey.  He was close enough where their arms were touching.  Mickey could feel the goose bumps on the younger boy’s skin, as he left his jacket in the bar – because it was certainly the cool air causing this and not the light contact of Mickey against him.  Ian leaned his head against the concrete, and turned his head so that he was staring at Mickey, who also turned and looked up at Ian.

So,” Ian started.

“So,” Mickey responded sarcastically.  Then suddenly, where there were words, a silence that crept around the boys like a vacuum, sucked away sound and time, and all was still, the two frozen in stares that went for miles.  Blue met green, and it was like each boy could see into each other.  Mickey didn’t know what was happening, but he could see Ian’s free hand in his periphery, slowly making its way up the concrete wall to meet his free hand.  _What the fuck._ It’s like Mickey couldn’t move, his chest caving, but the sensation Ian’s pinky brushing against his own snapped him out of the trance and he quickly retreated.  He turned away from Ian, and stormed off, making his way back into the bar. 

And Mickey wasn’t sure if he heard Ian calling his name in objection, but he certainly heard the pull of heart strings struggling not to vibrate off of the sound of a voice it could get used to.

Once back inside, Mickey quickly scanned the place looking for Mandy.  He was ready to get the fuck out of there.  A few seconds later, he saw her and Lip stumbling out of the handicapped bathroom in the back, Mandy sloppily wiping her mouth.  Now it was _really_ time to go.  He almost ran over to the two.

“Mandy!” he snapped.  She was so drunk, it took her more than five seconds to process it was her name that was called.  Lip was just as inebriated.

“Whatcha want big bro?” she laughed.  She was disgusting.

“Let’s go.  I wanna get outta here.”

“Then go!” she yelled at him.  Just when Mickey didn’t think he could get anymore annoyed, Lip decided to open his mouth.

“Yeah, go Mickey.  Your sister’s a big girl, trust me.”  The smug look on Lip’s face caused Mickey’s hand to twitch.  He was ready to knock him the fuck out, but the sound of Ian’s voice caused him to refrain from doing so.

“It’s not a bad idea for all of us to leave,” the redhead interjected.  “The bar closes in a half hour, and we’re all too drunk to even think straight.”  He stood right next to Mickey, close, slightly behind him, and slowly brushed his index finger up Mickey’s palm.  The older boy shivered, and this made it a fight or flight moment.  Mickey chose flight.

“You all do what you want.  I’m fucking leaving.”  He stormed out not looking back, but the shiver down his spine was still there – and going, and _going._

_***************************_

Mickey arrived at the dorm about a half hour before Ian, Lip and Mandy.  He was already sprawled out on the floor, nestled in his sleeping bag, trying to go to sleep, trying to _forget_ the night's events, but the adrenaline was too thick in his veins.  When he heard the sound of three voices laughing and the doorknob turning, he quickly pulled the sleeping bag up to his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

“Shhhh!” Mandy whispered loudly.  “My brother is sss-sleep so, mmm-be quiet.”  Her drunken speech was not attractive.  All Lip did was laugh.  Since the lights were off, Mickey managed to angle his head in a way where he could see everything out of the corner of his eye without being noticed.  He felt his blood boil when he noticed Lip groping his sister’s ass.

Then Ian walked in, and the boiling turned into something else.  He wasn’t as drunk as Lip and Mandy, and silently made his way to his bed without saying anything.  Mickey watched him as he removed his jacket and shoes, followed by his shirt and jeans, until he was only in boxers and a tank top, despite Mandy being right there.  But she was too preoccupied with Lip.  The muscles on the redhead were nicely defined, and that surprised Mickey – he never noticed it, until tonight.  The younger boy crawled into his bed, only covering himself from the waist down, as he propped one arm behind his head on his pillow.

Mickey watched Ian as he lay there, unresponsive to the show Lip and Mandy were putting on, sloppily making out and groping each other.  He just stared up at the ceiling.  A moment passed, and the redhead looked down on the floor at Mickey, then turned on his side, and continued to look with what Mickey could only imagine to be the most curious and _beautiful_ stare ever.  And although it was dark, and Mickey was pretending to be asleep, he couldn’t help but feel as if Ian knew he was staring too.

They both remained that way, until drifting off to sleep.

Mickey jolted out of his sleep a few hours later.  Drenched in his usual sweat, he looked around the room.  Mandy was in his bed sleep in all of her clothes, and Lip was passed on the sleeping bag and covers Ian had prepared for him.  And Ian – he was sitting at his desk with his face in his hands.  Before Mickey could lay back down and pretend to be asleep, the redhead turned towards him.

“Your bad dreams are always in perfect timing with my nerves.”

Mickey didn’t know if Ian being tired was what was causing his voice to shake.

************************************

The next day was _awkward_.  Well, at least for Ian and Mickey, seeing as Lip and Mandy were getting along just fine, too fine.  Nevertheless it was Thanksgiving, a holiday none of them cared deeply about, so they had to make the most of it.  They had all slept way past 1:00pm, and by the time they were all awake and dressed, it was decided that takeout was what they would get, along with some beers to go with it.  Fiona had sent Ian a flat screen TV a few weeks earlier as _“an early Christmas gift”_ which meant Jimmy probably bought it.  They would all watch crappy reality show marathons all day on it.  They were all too tired and hung over to do anything else.

“Who the hell eats Chinese food on Thanksgiving?” Mandy complained.  The girl hated Thanksgiving, but always wanted the turkey.

“We do,” Mickey snapped at her.  “Now quick your fucking complainin.”

“I’ll order the food,” Ian chimed in.

“And I’ll go grab the beers,” Lip responded.  Mandy shot up to her feet.

“I’ll come with you,” she said, the eagerness in her voice obvious.  Of course Mickey had to throw a negative in there.  Mandy was his fucking sister, and he’d be damned if this older Gallagher was going to take advantage of her.

“How the hell you plan on gettin’ _us_ beers,” Mickey challenged.  “You’re not 21.”  Lip raised an eyebrow, because obviously this Milkovich kid didn’t know who he was.

“I have my ways,” Lip responded as smug as ever.  He then reached in his wallet and pulled out a fake ID.  The shit was _legit._   It was an actual Illinois State Driver’s license with his picture on it, and the name “Ethan Parker” with the birth date March 13, 1987.  Mickey had to give him props.

“Fuck Gallagher.  That shit’s legit.  Where you get it?”

“South side baby.”  So Lip knew the south side well, and Mickey’s annoyance with the guy began to slowly taper.

“Respect.”

“So uh, you two order the food?”  Lip gestured his hands towards Ian and Mickey.  “And we’ll go get the beers?”  He motioned his hand between him and Mandy.

“Whatever,” Mickey answered nonchalantly.  He certainly did _not_ want to be alone with his roommate, despite living with him.  Not yet.  But he didn’t want to give off the impression that he was nervous about it.

“Sure thing,” Ian said just as carefree.

“Cool.  See you guys in a bit.”  Lip shot his younger brother a mischievous glance as he walked out, and Ian was tempted to throw his shoe at him. 

The first ten minutes was nothing but dead silence.  The five after that was filled with Ian attempting to make small talk.  Then somewhere in the midst of last night’s tension, and the day’s pending release, Ian found himself walking up to Mickey.  He was feeling daring to say the least.  Mickey was sitting at his desk playing poker on his laptop.  He thought his roommate was suicidal when he decided to sit on top of his desk.

“You mind?” Mickey said as motioned his hands for Ian to get the fuck down.  The redhead rolled his eyes and smirked.  Mickey thought he was gone, retreating to his side of the room, until he heard chair wheels rolling across the wooden floor.  Ian had the _nerve_ to push his desk chair right next to Mickey’s.  “The fuck are you doing?”

“Bored,” Ian answered.

“And that’s my problem, why?”

“It isn’t.  Just making small talk and watching you play online poker.  I’m pretty badass at that game you know.”

“Really now?”  Mickey wasn’t one for making small talk, but no one was better at poker than he was.  “Not better than me though.”

“Wanna test the theory?” Ian challenged, smiling the infamous grin.  And Mickey felt something shift in his stomach at the sight. 

“I’d rather play with real cards Gallagher, but game on.”  Mickey reached for the touch pad on his laptop, not realizing Ian reached at the same time, like it was _his_ fucking laptop.  The younger boy’s hand fell on top of Mickey’s, and he didn’t move it away – and neither did Mickey.  The electricity Mickey felt from Ian’s touch startled and aroused him all at the same time, and while his first instinct should have been to pull away, or flick Ian’s hand away, all he could do was stare into a kaleidoscope of endless green.  Ian’s fingers curled around Mickey’s and before he knew it, the redhead was leaning in, closer, _closer._

Mickey could feel Ian’s breath on his lips, but before they could connect, panic struck and Mickey quickly jumped to his feet, knocking over his desk chair. 

“What the fuck!” Mickey screamed.  He paced the floor, not looking at Ian whose face was now covered with a mixture of embarrassment and confusion.  The younger boy quickly followed suit and stood to his feet.

He tried to calm Mickey down, offering any words of explanation, and comfort?  Could it even be called that?  But the older boy’s pacing only got more frantic, while Ian became more anxious.  He reached out and grabbed Mickey by his shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Mickey sneered at the redhead.  Then just like that, he was out the door.

When Mandy and Lip returned telling him they saw an obviously upset Mickey storming down the street, all Ian could do was blame it on a misunderstanding, but the look on Lip’s face told Ian he knew it was something more.  His older brother pulled him from his smoky cloud of bewilderment where his puffing became more frantic and his exhales more desperate.

“What the hell happened Ian?”  Ian looked Lip in his eyes, and he knew he couldn’t lie.  He tried to answer in a whisper.

“We almost kissed…or…I-I tried to kiss him.  I don’t fucking know what just happened Lip.”  And before Lip could tell his younger brother to lower his voice so Mandy wouldn’t hear, the female Milkovich waltzed up to the two brothers.

“Holy shit,” Mandy gasped. 

Yeah, holy shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part of the story was a BEAST, so I had to divide it into 3 parts. I had to set the stage for the everything that will be taking place in this fic, and I think I finally did enough of that where the momentum should now pick up (and the chapters should be a bit shorter). I had to introduce Mandy and Lip in such a way where it wasn't rushed, as they are key parts of the story, while still keeping Mickey and Ian's unfolding stories in tact. Also, I decided to not make Mandy as clueless as the show has her, because I love her!
> 
> I know - there was A LOT of smoking in this fic, lol. Again, thanks to everyone for reading my sometimes purple prose, ha!


	8. Vladimir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Something has been taken from deep inside of me_   
> _The secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see,_   
> _Wounds so deep they never show they never go away,_   
> _Like moving pictures in my head for years and years they've played..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Disturbing description towards the end.

_His rhythms were never circadian; abusive at the most._

_He was merely floating, a spectator in an alternative universe.  Nevertheless, he was there, and it was happening to him.  The hard coldness on his cheeks seemed to freeze the tears that streamed down them, softening bones sinking into the wet mattress beneath his writhing body.  He had wet himself.  His sheets smelled of urine and the putrid lingering of struggle.  The pressure on top of him was too much and more than heavy – it was consuming, penetrating.  “Please…no…not again,” trailed muffled weeping in suffocation._

_Trying to grip the mass above him, his hands only slipped through heat and thick blackness, because the thing above him was not solid.  Yet, it was so heavy._

_An incubus, other-worldly, an imp of torturous disdain – he didn’t know what the Shadow Man consisted of, and wouldn’t try to tell.  Sour breath pricked at his neck through a hard mask pressed flush against his soft face, and when the entity pulled itself up, he could see its face.  It wore a black drama mask, the face in a scowl, but not that of the muse of tragedy, rather one of menacing proportions._

_And as the Shadow Man moved to remove its mask, the bed around the boy turned into mud and earth, swallowing him whole before the face above him gained features or recognition.  He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out.  Then all turned to black as he sank, his arms failing to maneuver through the thick mire as his hands scratched desperately, trying to grasp anything to pull back to the surface.  But deeper and deeper he descended into the muck that was sure to be his grave._

_Mickey violently jolted out of his sleep, the sound of his slamming room door waking him up, and crashed to the floor face first, busting his bottom lip.  The dream was always the fucking same._

_There was someone stirring in his bedroom, and as he looked up, eyes that mirrored his own met his gaze.  It was Mandy, and Mickey knew she brought good tidings of bad fucking news, because it was the middle of the night and she knew his room was off limits at this time.  She chewed nervously at her bottom lip._

_“Uncle Vlad’s dead,” she said in a monotone voice._

_Mickey was fourteen years old, and the following night was the first night in what seemed like forever, that he didn’t have the dream._

_He wouldn’t have it for four years._

**********************

 

“This is what he does.”

Ian and Lip looked at Mandy, obviously confused by her comment, Ian more so than his brother.  He raised an eyebrow while Lip fell deep into one of his genius pondering moments. 

“What’s that?” Ian asked. 

“Runs,” Mandy started as she sat down on Ian’s bed, taking a beer out of the case her and Lip just bought.  “He runs, you know, the moment he’s confronted with who he really is.”  Ian suddenly felt a pang of guilt hit him so hard, the wind in his chest nearly escaped.  “This isn’t new.”

 

_“What the fuck is this?”_

_Mickey paused the video game he was playing and turned around to the sound of his sister’s voice.  His face instantly heated when he saw what she held in her hand, the page hanging loosely, on full display.  He would ignore the twisting in his gut and play this off.  It was feasible._

_“The fuck does it look like?” he snapped.  Mandy lifted the picture, furrowing her eyebrows as she studied the contents in front of her.  A smirk pulled at the corners of her mouth._

_“It’s a J. Crew catalog.”_

_“Exactly.  Now would you let me get back to my game?”  Mickey turned back around, but he could hear Mandy still behind him.  She wasn’t finished._

_“Mickey,” she started.  “We can’t afford J. Crew.  We can barely afford K-Mart.”  Mickey felt himself getting pissed.  He wished she would stop fucking digging._

_“So what Mandy?  I like to look at their clothes.”_

_“So not your style, and this is a Men’s catalog Mickey, which I found hidden under your bed.”  She turned the page around so Mickey could see it.  “And you had page 34 folded down to this picture, like a bookmark.”  Mickey stared at the photo, the male model in the picture wearing nothing but a pair of tight swim trunks that hung dangerously low, exposing the “V” formation leading to exactly what his sixteen year old hormones craved.  His abs and chest looked as if they were chiseled out of stone, and his hair – fire red.  Mickey suddenly felt angry and nauseous all at the same time._

_“The fuck were you doing under my bed?!” he shouted at his sister._

_“Iggy sent me to get the box with the good weed in it!  So calm down!  Hide your shit better.”  Mickey stood up and moved towards his sister.  His insecurities must have spoken before he could, because as he stood in front of her, he could see her face softening.  “It’s ok.  I kind of already suspected.”  His eyes widened at the accusation._

_“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”  The sound of heavy footsteps came through the back door, the thunderous boom behind each step screaming Terry.  Mickey quickly grabbed his coat and headed towards the front door.  “I’m fucking outta here.”  Just as Terry entered the living room, the front door slammed._

_“The fuck’s he running off too?” Terry asked his daughter.  He was covered in sweat and his knuckles were decorated in fresh cuts and bruises.  He was on the war path._

_“Dunno,” Mandy quickly responded.  She made sure to tuck the catalog under her arm, out of her father’s view._

“Where does he usually go when something like this happens?” Lip asked.  He was scratching his eyebrow, wheels in his head already turning.  Ian sat at his desk and began rubbing his temples with his index and middle fingers.

“Someone usually finds him stumbling out of the Alibi back home, pissy drunk and picking fights.”  Mandy smirked into her beer as she drank.  “My brother likes to take out his frustration by fucking people up.  His tattoos are fitting.”

“So you think he hit a bar?” Lip asked as he grabbed a beer.

“I guess.  He usually likes to drink when he’s angry, or running or whatever he’s doing when he gets like this.”  Ian jumped to his feet.

“He’s probably at the Half Pint,” the redhead interjected.  “I’ll go see if he’s there, apologize and get him back here.”  Just as Ian began to grab his coat, he was stopped by his brother.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa Ian,” Lip started as he held his hand up to his younger brother’s chest.  “You really think it’s a good idea for _you_ to go get him?  Don’t think so.”  He gestured for his younger brother to take a seat.

“Why the hell not?”

“Trust me, Lip’s right,” Mandy responded.  “The last face he wants to see is yours, no offense.  It won’t be pretty.  There was only one person outside of our shitty father in Mickey’s life that seemed to have an effect on him, was able to get him to comply without him freaking out.”

“Who?” Ian asked, curious.

“Our uncle Vlad.  He had a way with Mickey, but he died when he was fourteen.  I was almost thirteen.”  Mandy stood and began to grab her jacket.  “Anyways, I think I’m the best option right now.”

“Nah, I’ll go.”  Ian and Mandy turned and looked at Lip, their faces confused by his suggestion.  He was scratching the top of his head, the way he does when he’s on to something.  “Look, we all agree Ian is the last person that needs to go, and being you’re his sister and know all about him, I think he’ll just run off somewhere else.  We need a neutral party here, someone who he feels doesn’t suspect.  I’ll just tell him Mandy bitched for me to come get him.  Trust me on this one.” 

Ian had already resigned to the idea before his brother finished talking.  Suspicion and uncertainty were etched in Mandy’s pale features, but she eventually thought it was best for Lip to go retrieve him.

“Just be warned,” Mandy started as Lip made his way to the door.  “My brother can be a bit hostile, especially when he’s like this.”  Lip nodded to Mandy showing he understood.

“I get it.  He’s vulnerable.” 

*********************

“Another.” 

Kevin frowned at Mickey’s request, but obliged.  He poured the boy his fifth shot of Jack Daniels, the concern showing in his face.  Mickey tipped his head back as he downed the alcohol, not sure if the burn was his escape or shock back to what just happened being reality.  His eyes were closed with each swallow, the image behind his eyelids vivid and consistent.  _Hair like embers.  Eyes like emeralds.  Lips like magnets – pull away, pull away._   Mickey quickly opened his eyes, the image of that fucking red head like a hologram, still in his drunken view.  He could see Kevin in his periphery, arms folded, face serious, mouth twitching to ask a question.  No – pry really.  Mickey cracked his neck after slamming down the shot glass then made eye contact with the man.  _Get the fuck on with it._

“I know you wanna ask somethin,” Mickey started, his buzz obvious in his voice.  “So fucking ask.” 

“Ok.”  Kevin shrugged his shoulders and accepted Mickey invitation.  “It’s Thanksgiving Mickey.  What the hell are you doing here?”

“Getting shitfaced.  Why you open?”

“We close early today kid.”

“Well then keep the JD coming until.”

“It’s 5:30 Mickey.  We close at 6:00.  Besides I think you’ve had enough.”  Kevin threw the white rag he was drying glasses with over his shoulder and moved closer to a now inebriated Mickey.  “Don’t know why I let you under-aged kids drink sometimes,” he murmured to himself.  He studied the dark haired boy’s eyes, and where there was drunkenness and bloodshot intention, was also fear.  Kevin propped his elbows up onto the bar and leaned closer to Mickey.  “What’s eating you?”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about man?” Mickey asked, his voice angry.  The question clearly got a reaction out of the boy.  He frowned and placed his hands onto the bar, now balled into tight fists, swaying in his chair as he did so, almost falling off.  Balance would definitely be an enemy once he stood on his feet.  “What makes you think something’s eating me?”

 

_“What’s eating you, huh?”_

_Mickey blinked his eyes, his blurry surroundings coming more into focus.  He had been looking through the eye of a shitty camera all day it seemed, things coming in and out of focus, images blurred and washed by too much exposure.  Too little sleep and too many nightmares.  Terry and Vladimir were sitting at the kitchen table in front of an arsenal of guns and a ridiculous stash of heroine.  Terry grew impatient when Mickey didn’t answer right away._

_“I asked you a question Michael.  Fucking answer it instead of standing there like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs!”  Terry was already high, probably partly off of his own stash, and he rarely called Mickey by his full name.  Vladimir sat silently with a cigarette hanging loosely between his thin lips, watching Mickey out of the corner of his eye as he cleaned an AK-47._

_“I-I…uh,” Mickey stuttered.  The fourteen year old boy rubbed his eyes.  He couldn’t finish his thought, and that pissed Terry off.  The man stood from his chair and walked over to Mickey, lowering his head so they were eye to eye._

_“What the fuck is wrong with you?!  You’ve been acting like this all week!” Terry shouted in his son’s frightened face, spittle landing on the boy’s pale cheeks.  He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and twisted so hard, the fabric around Mickey’s neck almost choked him.  “Well then since the cat’s got your tongue, stop invading my space and get the fuck on!  I can’t do my business with you walkin’ around here like some stupid pansy.”  Mickey’s back was pressed against the edge of the sink from Terry’s weight now, the metal raking across his spine.  It hurt._

_“Enough Terry.”  The calm in Vladimir’s voice was the complete opposite of the ferocity in Terry’s.  It did the trick.  “Sedeti,” he said to Terry in Serbian.  Terry loosened the grip on Mickey’s shirt and sat just like his brother asked, back at the table.  Vladimir nodded his head to his nephew.  “Ti si sada dobro.  Go.”  He told Mickey he was fine now, and to go._

_The dark haired boy quickly exited the kitchen, not saying a word._

“Fu-uck you alright!” Mickey shouted.  Kevin backed away from the bar.  He quickly tussled with the idea of saying something.  Mickey wasn’t stable at the moment.

Just as Kevin fixed his mouth to respond, the door of the bar opened with a type of forcefulness greater than that of someone walking in to just get a drink.  It was like a cheesy western flick.  Open the double doors to the saloon.  Scan your perimeter.  Find your objective.  Lip walked in, a purpose in his strut, half smoked cigarette tucked behind his ear.  His eyes zeroed in on Mickey, the look on the older Gallagher’s face smug no less.  He made his way over to the bar, sitting on the stool next to Mickey and gestured for Kevin to pour him a drink.

“Whatever he’s having,” Lip said as he pointed to Mickey.  Kevin poured a shot of Jack Daniels, placing the glass in front of Lip.  He could feel Mickey’s eyes burning through the side of his face.  The older Gallagher quickly downed the alcohol.  He’d need the liquid courage to deal with the drunken Milkovich.

“The fff-fuck are you doing here Gallagher?” Mickey slurred.  He was done, but the pending rage still wrapped around his vocal cords.

“I came to get a drink,” Lip started still staring straight ahead.  “And you.”

“Fuck off!  Your lil’ bro send you?”  Mickey stood up from the barstool, almost losing his balance.  He steadied himself by holding onto the bar.  He was smashed, but Lip didn’t think for one moment that Mickey wouldn’t try to take him (and maybe beat his ass) if he tried something the dark haired boy wouldn’t like.  Lip was facing him now, his eyes squinting as he focused in on the boy in front of him.

“Dude relax.  Mandy bitched for me to come and find you.”

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Lucky guess.” 

“What the fuck did your brother tell you?” 

“He didn’t tell me shit.  He just looked like he’d seen a ghost or something.”  Lip stood up, placing his money for his drink on the bar, and enough extra to cover Mickey’s.  He looked towards Kevin.  “Will this cover what he had too?”  Kevin picked up the bills and nodded.  Mickey’s eyes widened, fury coursing through his veins.

“Get the fuck outta hhh-here with your rich boy shit Gallagher,” Mickey started as he got closer to Lip.  “I can pay for myself!  Matter fact, hit me again Kev!”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down Mick.  Just being friendly here.  And I think you’ve had more than enough.” 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Mickey said, his voice in a low growl.

“What, Mick?  Ok, Mickey.”  The sarcasm in Lip’s voice was obvious.  Even drunk, Mickey could hear it, and it pissed him off royally.

“Fuck you!  I’m outta here.”  Mickey walked past Lip, making sure to shove him with his shoulder as he made, more like stumbled, his way towards the exit.  Before he could reach the door, balance left him and he tripped over his own feet, crashing into a chair.  Lip and Kevin immediately ran towards the fallen boy. 

“Alright, time to go,” Lip said as he helped Mickey up.  Once he helped him to his feet, instead of a thank you, he received a hard shove to his chest.  Even drunk Mickey was fucking strong.    

“Don’t fucking touch me Gallagher!  You and your lil’ bro need to learn to keep your hands to yourself.  You gonna pull back nubs one day.”  Lip lightly chuckled at Mickey’s statement.

“What does Ian have to do with me trying to get you back safe right now?”  As Lip spoke, Mickey was in the process of losing his balance, yet again.  Lip quickly looped his arm under one of Mickey’s and gripped his back, while placing the drunken boy’s arm around his neck.  Mickey didn’t fight the help this time.  He turned towards the older Gallagher, his bloodshot eyes hooded, the blue of his irises almost looking black.

“Your brother’s a faggot.” 

“I know,” Lip responded, clearly not fazed by Mickey’s comment.  “And you’re drunk.”  The two boys made their way out of the door, Lip turning and giving Kevin a nod, signifying that he’d be okay getting Mickey back to the dorm. 

“Peder.  Homoseksualac.”  Lip furrowed his eyebrows at Mickey’s foreign mumbling.  He had no clue what he was saying, but he found it interesting the kid actually spoke another language.

********************

The walk back to the dorm was tedious.  Introspective to say the least.  _Somewhat._

Lip’s hands were scraped from falling to the pavement with Mickey three times, and his patience was more than tested after dodging projectile vomit twice.  Despite the annoyance he felt behind the sloppy drunk of a boy he was reluctantly helping to keep his balance, there was the mumbling – low, inaudible at times, but definitely _not_ English or done in complete consciousness.  This bothered Lip more than anything, not because he couldn’t translate the foreign language, but because the intonation was soaked in something almost sad, the words also bleeding a looming quality.  Lip could hear it – they were Mickey’s inner memoirs, spilling out in a drunken haze.  The older Gallagher wondered if the dreams Mickey suffered from, information Ian shared with him in confidence, were tied to his murmuring.

The two boys finally made it back to the dorm.  Three knocks and the room door swung open.  It was Ian.  He studied the way Mickey hung around Lip’s neck like a rag doll – limp, almost lifeless, _soft to the touch._ He went in to help carry Mickey inside, but was immediately stopped by his older brother, who shook his head.

“I think it’s best if you just let me get him inside.”  Lip struggled to get Mickey to his bed, who was practically putting all of his weight on him, with Ian following close behind.  “Yo, keep your distance.  If he wakes up and sees you standing over him, he may take a swing,” Lip warned his brother.  But Ian was a Gallagher, hard-headed by nature.  Of course he wasn’t going to listen.

Mickey was finally on his back with his eyes closed.  Ian studied the way his lips were moving, mumbled words tripping over his slurred tongue.  The red head leaned in closer, ignoring Lip’s protest to _“get the hell away from his bed,”_ his ears at attention as he tried to grasp the tail end of consonants and the contrasting vowels.  It wasn’t English, and although he couldn’t make out the words spilling over the very lips he tried to kiss, Ian thought the foreign sounds coming from Mickey’s mouth were the most beautiful noises he had ever heard.

“The hell’s he saying?” Ian asked.  Lip walked back over towards Mickey’s bed, Mandy close behind.

“I don’t know dude.  He’s been mumbling that shit since we left the Half Pint.”  As Lip scratched his head, stumped for once, Mandy tilted her head slightly to one side, her lips pursed in concentration.  Her eyes grew wide, and a small smile spread across her face.  She recognized what was coming from Mickey’s mouth instantly.

“Wow,” she started as she moved in closer to her brother.  “He must be really fucking smashed.”  Ian and Lip looked at her, confused and curious.  “It’s Serbian.  He hasn’t spoken it in years.”

“Wait – Mickey speaks Serbian?”  Ian was obviously baffled. 

“Yeah, but he won’t tell anyone that.”  Mandy leaned in to listen to what Mickey was saying.  “I’ve only heard him speak it a few times years ago.  Our Uncle Vlad used to teach us.  He always made sure to speak to us in Serbian when we were little because our mom and dad were always too high to give a shit about teaching us our native language.”

“So do you speak any Serbian?” Lip asked.  Mandy snorted at the question.

“Only a little bit.  I’m crappy at it, but I understand it pretty well.  I never practiced speaking it, but used to overhear Mickey speaking it with uncle Vlad a few times.  He obviously caught on quick and practiced it without anyone really knowing.  Besides, he was always the smart one.”  Ian sat down next to Mickey, so far gone now, he was obviously approaching REM and not aware of his surroundings.  A dangerous move, but he was willing to take his chances.

“What’s he saying?” Ian asked.  Mandy pursed her lips again, concentrating on the soft delivery of each word.  Her eyes narrowed, then she casted them down towards the floor.  She backed up slightly, obviously disturbed.  Closing her eyes, she began to formulate translations in her head, her face twisted in a way a child’s would be when first learning how to count in their head.  As Mickey spoke, Mandy translated.

_“Tako se bojim.”_

“I’m so afraid.”

_“On je znao šta sam bio.”_

“He knew what I was.”

*******************************

Silence crept around Lip, Ian and Mandy as they ate the Chinese food straight out of the cartons, the only noises being the sounds of chopsticks clashing, chewing and Mickey’s labored breathing.  A few times Mandy stopped eating to check on him, his heavy gasps resembling a struggle.  He was silently dreaming. 

Lip opened a can of beer, the popping of the metal top ricocheting off of hovering questions.  Mickey’s translated words made Mandy uncomfortable, so she had refused to continue to listen, making her craving for a cigarette an excuse to stop, but Ian knew there was more behind her wanting to fill her lungs with nicotine.  He told himself to leave it alone, to not ask questions or pick beneath the surface, but Mickey was under his skin now and Ian needed to break the ice.  The current silence wasn’t a bad thing – avoidance was.

“What do you think it meant?”  Ian started his question off as general as possible.  He would take an archaeological approach and delicately brush the dirt away instead of forcing it up with a shovel.  Mandy continued to eat her food, shoveling chicken chow mein into her mouth, swallowing noodles and a decent response.  She answered with a mouth full.

“What?”  She never looked up from her carton.

“What Mickey said.”

“Dunno.”  And Mandy left it at that.  Ian of course, did not.

“There’s got to be some kind of reason behind it.  It just,” Ian stopped for a second, shaking his head.  “Just didn’t sound right.”  Mandy looked up from her food, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Look Ian, Mickey’s a mystery, even to me.”  She looked over at her brother, still sprawled out on his bed unconscious.  “Don’t try and force getting to know things about him, trust me.  It’s like trying to break through a steel wall.  What I know about him, I happened to find out by accident, or sensed it somehow.”

Ian thought about the mysteries behind dark hair, pale skin and blue eyes, and wondered if somehow he would be able to discover them.  Only more nights of pulling Mickey out of his dreams and small talk over cigarettes by the window would tell.  Time.  It would take time.    

After filling their stomachs with Chinese food and beer, and also putting some aside for Mickey, the rest of the evening was spent watching the Under Seige movies.  Mickey loved Steven Seagal, and bought the DVD’s with him which caused a heated debate with Ian a few weeks back, who preferred Jean-Claude Van Damme.  The red head swore Van Damme could kick Seagal’s ass, but Mickey was convinced otherwise, the proof being in Seagal’s powerful ponytail. 

12:02am. 

As Ian watched the credits on the screen, his mind wandered back to Mickey.  The almost kiss.  Him running off and getting shitfaced.  The Serbian mumbling.  He looked over towards his roommate, who was still silently sleeping – _silently_.  He fixed his green eyes on the silhouette of Mickey’s body, suddenly worrying about what would happen when he awoke.  Perhaps he was too sure of himself, wrapped up in his own feelings, while Mickey was so obviously unsure.  Ian knew he should have held back, and suddenly he felt as if he had swallowed a brick, the heaviness in his stomach a reminder that he had fucked up.  Royally fucked up.

“Somethin on your mind?” Lip asked Ian, interrupting his thoughts.  Ian snapped out of whatever he was in and looked at his brother.   He was sitting in Ian’s giant beanbag for two, Mandy curled into his side with her head resting on his chest, lightly snoring.

“Nah, nothing.”  Lip could smell bullshit from a mile away.

“Ian, I’ve known you all your life.  I can tell when something’s up.  Spill.”

“It’s just Mickey.  I think I messed up with him.”  Lip looked down at a sleeping Mandy, brushing her black bangs out of her face.  She was knocked out cold.

“You didn’t mess up.  If anything, he messed up running away,” Lip said while still stroking Mandy’s hair.  Ian was confused by his brother’s comment.

“How so?”

“Running never solves anything, and it also gives you away.  If his sexuality is something he’s been trying to conceal, he shouldn’t have overreacted and run away.”  Lip was probably right, but then again, neither one of them knew Mickey.  Even his own sister attested to being in the dark about the boy she grew up with.

“Maybe,” Ian said dryly.  Lip’s demeanor suddenly changed, and he stared at Ian, face serious, contemplative.

“And uh, do me a favor would ya?” Lip asked.

“What?”

“If anything ever manifests out of these _feelings_ you two obviously have towards each other, Ian, please don’t pursue it.”  Ian looked at his brother, his face twisted in something between amusement and confusion.  It was far too late for any mediation because he was now preoccupied with things not known, waiting to be discovered.  _Mickey Milkovich._   And although he knew Lip was telling him to stay away from a boy he thought to be trouble that, to Ian was more fuel to the fire.

Lip shook his head in amusement from the look on his younger brother’s face.  Epic fail.

**********************

Waking up had never been so easy, yet so hard at the same time.  A hangover hung somewhere between anticipation and the aftermath of actually sleeping _soundly._   Surprisingly, Mickey had slept through the night, undisturbed and almost dreamless.  Streams of sunlight woke him up, a headache pounding behind his eyelids, nausea trying to creep into his mouth.  As he sat up in his bed, dizziness hit him fairly hard, but not harder than the site across the room.  The red in his hair was doing it again – fucking gleaming.  The rise and fall of Ian’s chest was too noticeable, the look on his face as he slept hitting Mickey in the face.  He needed a cigarette.

As soon as the cigarette smoke hit his lungs and Mickey instantly relaxed.  He made sure his steps were almost silent as he got a cigarette, sure to not wake Mandy, Lip and Ian.  He leaned against the bay window, blowing the smoke into the morning air.  Every exhale was heavy, deep thoughts lining the smoke and coinciding with replays of yesterday’s events.  Mickey wasn’t sure if he was angry, embarrassed or confused.  In all honesty, he was almost afraid.  He blamed it on too much alcohol making him feel so vulnerable, but the truth was lying just feet away from him – all 6’2” of it.  Mickey closed his eyes to his surroundings, a failed attempt to block out everything he was feeling.

“You’re awake.”  The voice reverberated inside Mickey, almost shaking him. 

He opened his blue eyes, only to land on sleepy green ones.  When he didn’t respond right away, Ian stood to his feet, reaching his arms over his head in a long stretch, exposing his lower abdomen.  Mickey blinked frantically, and as Ian walked towards him, he thought about putting out his cigarette and possibly running, _again,_ or staying put and being a complete asshole.  He did neither.  Ian leaned on the other side of the window, a lazy smile creeping across his face. 

“Can I bum one of those?”  He pointed to Mickey’s pack of cigarettes.  The older boy handed him one along with the lighter, being extra careful _not_ to brush Ian’s fingers.  The redhead lit the nicotine, inhaling deep.  “Hungover?”

“A little,” Mickey answered nonchalantly.  He hoped Ian wasn’t trying to make small talk, because the conversation would more than likely turn into something much bigger.

“You were pretty drunk last night.”  Mickey simply shrugged.  Ian could see Mickey was being unresponsive.  He couldn’t blame him after what happened, but it still annoyed the hell out of him.  He knew they would have to talk about it eventually, it was just a matter of how it would be approached – a slow, steady chiseling of the ice until something sculpted was apparent, or a hard fast stab, breaking the ice, causing it to shatter.  Either way, the ice would need to be broken.  Ian chose the latter.  “Listen,” Ian started.  He took another pull of his cigarette.  “About yesterday, I – “

“Try to kiss me again and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”  Mickey cut Ian off, still staring straight ahead, looking out the window and not missing a beat smoking.  Ian was the one wounded, the hard fast stab hitting him right between the ribs.  The older boy turned towards Ian as he stubbed out his cigarette.  His face was neither angry nor annoyed.  In fact, Ian didn’t know what to make of the look that covered Mickey’s features like a thin veil, but when he raised his dark eyebrows in one swift motion at Ian, the red head knew it wasn’t anything bad.

Mickey walked past Ian before letting him say anything.  The gesture was understood and Ian kept his mouth shut in silent understanding.  He wasn’t sure if that was Mickey’s way of acknowledging it, but he would take a word from the wise and try not to force himself to figure it out.  He would let it play itself out.

The rest of the weekend was actually decent.  Although Mickey wasn’t going out of his way to talk to Ian, even socialize, he was surprisingly upbeat and wasn’t a complete jerk.  He answered Ian when he said something to him, and he even shared his barbecue Pringles with Ian, which Mandy called _“monumental,”_ because Mickey shared his beloved barbecue Pringles with no one.  Each chip was an olive branch of sorts, at least in Ian’s mind, but he couldn’t be so sure until Lip and Mandy were gone.  For the time being, Ian deemed them buffers, and how things really were between him and Mickey would be revealed in alone time and once again sharing a space between just the two of them.

Sunday came, and it was finally time for Lip to fly back to Massachusetts and Mandy to Chicago.  The ride to the airport was mostly silent between the four teens, except for Mandy pouting here and there about how she didn’t want the weekend to end.  She was sitting next to Ian, her arm looped around his and her head leaning against his shoulder.  Mickey scoffed at the sight calling them _“two fucking girls”_ under his breath, which Mandy heard, apparent by her famous smack to the back of his head.  Lip was in the front, only looking back to laugh at the brother-sister love being shared between the two Milkovich siblings.

“You better Skype me,” Mandy said to Ian as she wrapped her thin arms around Ian’s waist.  It was like she and Ian had known each other forever.

“I will Mandy,” Ian responded, reciprocating the embrace.  “I’m going back to Chicago for winter break.  Maybe you could come by my house, meet the rest of my siblings.”  Mandy’s face beamed at Ian’s suggestion. 

“Definitely,” she smiled.  Lip made his way over to the two of them.

“You have my number,” Lip said to Mandy, a smirk on his face.  Mandy twirled her dark hair as she bit her bottom lip.

“Sure do.”

“We’ll be in touch.”  The older Gallagher brother pulled Mandy into a hug, his hands on the small of her back and kissed her on the cheek.  Ian caught a glimpse of Mickey rolling his eyes at the sight.  “See you soon?”

“Yeah.”  Mandy smiled as she pulled out of Lip’s hug.  She then made her way over to her brother who was frowning – nothing new.  “You look like the fucking Grinch.”

“Whatever bitch.”  Mickey’s face began to loosen and relax.  “Just have a good flight and you better call me when you land.”

“I will.”

“Who’s picking you up?”

“Iggy.”  Mandy grabbed her bag before heading inside.  “See you inside Lip,” she said to the older Gallagher.  He nodded before turning to Ian.

Lip looked at his brother for a few seconds before speaking.  Ian could tell he was mentally writing some brotherly discourse in his head.  “Ian, my brother,” Lip began as he placed his hand on Ian’s shoulder.  “Please, please take care of yourself and don’t get sucked into anything.”  Ian knew he was referring to Mickey.

“I’m a big boy Lip.  I’ll be ok.”

“I’m not so sure.  I can tell you like him, _a lot.”_   Ian chose to ignore Lip’s last statement. 

“Whatever.  Just call me when you get back to Massachusetts.”  Ian hugged his brother before playfully shoving him off.

“Will do.”

Lip threw his duffle bag over his shoulder before heading into the airport.  He turned around once entering the automatic doors, giving one last nod to Mickey and a salute to Ian.

The cab ride back to the dorm was completely silent.  But the stolen glances between both boys were anything but.

That night, Mickey fought in sleep, dreaming violently and vocalizing words Ian didn’t understand.  The younger boy hesitated before going to wake him, afraid the sudden jolt out of his sleep and sight of him would cause an adverse reaction in the older boy.  But Mickey was struggling and Ian was _preoccupied_.  He lightly shook Mickey by his shoulders, drenched in sweat and Ian had to stop himself from running his fingers down his biceps.  It was just enough to pull Mickey back to consciousness, causing him to suddenly spring up as he gasped for air.  Ian tried to quickly walk away, but was stopped by one tattooed hand gripping his wrist.  His back was to Mickey and the grip got tighter, causing Ian to turn around.

Ian caught Mickey’s gaze, not sure what to make of the older boy’s hand slowly sliding down to his palm, before abruptly letting go, and laying back down.

***********************

“First time here?”

Thanks to Mandy, it was.  Mickey nodded his head in response to the brunette girl behind the desk.  She wore black, old school wayfarer style glasses, and her bangs hung carelessly in her face.  She had an expressionless look on her face, and Mickey thought she reminded him of the MTV cartoon character Daria.  That alone made him want to turn away, and _run._   What the fuck was he doing here?

The day before leaving, Mandy had pulled Mickey aside and begged, more like threatened, him to go to the peer mentoring.  _“Don’t be a fucking idiot and grow a pair before I cut them off being you won’t need them,”_ she said to him as she poked her boney finger in his chest.  He wanted to slap her, but she could thank her vagina, he didn’t.  _“You wanna be stuck in the shitty south side for the rest of your life?”_ Of course Mickey didn’t, so reluctantly, he promised Mandy he would at least try.  She told him he had anger issues, and although that was probably true, Mickey didn’t feel the need to talk about it to anyone.

“I see you’re mandatory,” the brown haired girl said in a monotone voice as she ruffled a bunch of papers in front of her.  “Your advisor already submitted your name.  So you’re not a runner.  Congratulations.”  Was this bitch crazy talking to Mickey like that?  “You can make your way into Room number two.  A student mentor is already waiting.”  _You mean wannabe shrink?_   “Make sure you sign this after each session.”  Mickey loudly scoffed before walking off.  _Bitch._

“No fucking way.”  As the door slammed behind Mickey, he felt himself getting pissed at who he saw.  He was sitting behind a small coffee table on a hideous pastel green couch, tapping his pen on the table, reading some papers in front of him.  His face was fixed in concentration, almost frowning.  “Gallagher?”  The red head looked up, the expression on his face letting Mickey know he was just as shocked as he was.

“Mickey?  Wait – you’re my new case?”  Mickey began pacing back and forth, his hands balled into fists.  This was all too familiar to Ian.

“Hell no.  _Hell fucking no!”_ Mickey almost yelled.  “What did you plan this?  I’m outta here.”  _Run again you coward._ Ian jumped to his feet.

“Mickey wait.”  Ian walked towards Mickey, quickly, but with caution.  “I swear to you I had no clue.  We get these blinded.”

“Bullshit.”

“Would you just listen to me?”  The red head moved so he was blocking the door now.  “Look, I know this is awkward for you and you don’t wanna do this, but just sit down.  You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”  Normally Mickey would’ve just punched the person keeping him from leaving anywhere in the face, but something made him actually listen to Ian.  He rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip and sat on the couch.  The walls were white and he felt like he was in a Psychiatrist’s waiting room.

“Alright.  But I ain’t fucking talking Gallagher.  I just want to do my two sessions per week for the next eight weeks and be done.”

“Fine Mickey, but I have to take notes for my reports.  I’ll just make something up.”

“Reports?”

“Yes.  Normally, we talk to the students about whatever’s bothering them, possibly get to the root of what made them snap I guess you can say.”  Ian then began turning the pages of his yellow notebook, which had notes already scribbled in it.  “Then we write it in a report.”

“Yeah well you make something up then.  Don’t know what I would be talking about anyway.”

“We could cuddle instead,” Ian laughed.  Bad joke.  Mickey’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening as he grew pissed.  “It was just a joke, calm down Mick.  I don’t know, talk about anything.  Your past, present, plans for the future, family.  Anything.”  Family.  Mickey sarcastically laughed at the last suggestion for a conversation piece.  Aside from Mandy, he didn’t care to talk about anyone in his family.

“You fucking serious Gallagher?  Family?”

“Yeah, family.  I mean, talk about anyone.  It’s just a way to open up, you know.  Like, you could talk about your uncle Vlad.”  Mickey’s face fell.  How the fuck did Ian know about his uncle?  And where did he get off bringing him up?  Ian noticed the look on Mickey’s face, realizing he had hit a nerve. 

“Fuck you,” Mickey said angrily.  “How the fuck do you know about my uncle?  Don’t you dare talk about him to me.”

“Look, I’m sorry Mick.  I didn’t realize that was a sensitive topic.  I know he died and all and – “

“I never told you that!”  Mickey cut Ian off, his voice rising more than a few decibels.  Yup, definitely a nerve was hit, and probably damaged.  Ian suddenly felt like an idiot, because he hadn’t told him anything about his uncle. 

“Sorry, it’s just that Mandy was telling us – “

“Mandy needs to keep her fucking mouth shut because she don’t know shit!”

“But she’s your sister Mick, and Vlad was her uncle too.”

“Shut up!  Just shut the fuck up Gallagher!”  Both boys were standing now.  “Mandy has no idea!  You have _no_ idea!”  Mickey’s voice was shaking now, and the dark haired boy was beginning to fall apart right in front of Ian.

“Help me understand.”  Ian moved closer to Mickey, until they were a few feet apart.  He could see Mickey was shaking all over now, and all Ian wanted to do was hold him close, calm him down.  But he knew that wouldn’t happen.

“Understand?”  Mickey’s voice was lower now, somewhat mocking in tone.  “You wanna understand Gallagher?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Ian responded.  Mickey laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh.  It was almost sinister.

“You wanna know how my uncle Vlad died?  I’m certain Mandy didn’t tell you that because she doesn’t know, so let me enlighten you.  My dad put his body through a fucking grinder at the meat packing plant!”  Mickey was still laughing as he said this, the look in his eyes almost hysterical.  What can of worms did Ian open?  The red head’s face twisted in horror at the information just shared. 

“M-Mick I’m so sorry.  I’m a fucking idiot for even mentioning your uncle.  I didn’t know.”  Mickey was pacing back and forth again.

“All Mandy knows is that he died because that’s all dad told her.  But I knew.  I fucking knew because he had already told me what he was going to do to uncle Vlad after what happened.”  Mickey finally stopped pacing, and sat on the couch.  He stared straight ahead as he spoke, his voice low and shaky.  It was like everything was pouring out of him, not in a steady stream, but gushing like an opened fire hydrant. 

“What happened?  Y-you can talk to me.”  Ian knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn’t help but put himself out there.  After all, he had pulled the band-aid off of the wound, slow and steady, skin and hair pulling painfully from the adhesive.  Mickey rubbed his hand across his face.  He wasn’t looking at Ian, but the younger boy could see that his blue eyes were red.

“Why do you think I have nightmares Gallagher?”  He asked Ian this like the answer was so apparent, but Mickey was speaking Morse code now, and all the younger boy could do was grasp at clues like beeps and tones.  Mickey turned his head slowly towards his roommate, the mystery to his madness at the tip of his tongue.  Suddenly the tough guy from the south side of Chicago was merely a scared child – _again._

Ian was nowhere near prepared for what he was hearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, the italicized parts are flashbacks (but I think everyone got that by now, lol). Also, I've never used the Serbian dictionary so much in my life! I definitely had three songs on repeat while writing this chapter - "Therapy" by All Time Low (this song is also the inspiration for the next chapter), "Easier to Run" by Linkin Park and "Staying Up" by The Neighbourhood. I highly recommend listening to them. Thank you all for reading, and all of the encouragement! More to come... :)


	9. Slow Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: There are mentions of depression, suicide, etc. There is also mention of abuse. I will not go further into detail to prevent giving it away, but read with caution. By now, everyone that reads my writing knows it can be quite angst-driven. :)
> 
> There are a lot of components here, and I thought about omitting some, but I would not have been satisfied with the outcome (still on the fence actually). This is a long chapter!

He squeezed the bottle in his hand tight – so tight the plastic bent slightly.  So did his mind.  _Fuck._   Mickey was in the room and awake.  He was usually asleep when Ian did this, but he could care less at this point.  He needed _something_.  Ian was on the verge of crawling out of his own skin, because jumping out would be too quick.  He needed to feel it peel off – a sensation necessary to make up for what he now knew.

~~~

_“I’d be lying if – “_

_“C’mon, this is stupid,” Mickey said, suddenly cutting Ian off.  They had been in this room for all of fifteen minutes, but it felt like an hour.  He was ready to get the fuck out already._

_By now his mouth had gotten away from him, spitting out secrets he was certain would remain swallowed.  Ian knew more than he wanted so Mickey planned on saying nothing more.  His roommate didn’t need to know he was afraid to sleep in the dark alone until two years ago.  He didn’t need to know he started getting night terrors at the age of six, and certainly not of the Shadow Man.  He didn’t need to know he hates his father, as true as it was.  He didn’t need to know his mom died of a heroin overdose, and he certainly didn’t need to know he’s thought about ending his life more than a few times, but he’s too big of a pussy to actually do it.  It all made him look so weak, and this wasn’t something Mickey wanted to come off as, because he was anything but.  So he seized up and stopped talking._

_But Ian had a way with getting things out of people.  It wasn’t his charm or gift to gab, but it was the honesty he always had in his eyes.  Mickey was no exception to the look._

_“Mick, this actually works,” Ian responded.  “We do this in peer mediation groups.”_

_“So.”_

_“So, it’s a good way to get things off your chest.  The truth is hard, so we use this exercise to begin each thing you reveal with the line, “I’d be lying if.”  It works.”  Mickey looked at Ian, his blue eyes looking almost through him._

_“It’s because it hurts.”_

_“Huh?” Ian responded confused._

_“The truth is hard, because it hurts.”  Mickey looked away from Ian, the truth souring in his mouth, so there was nowhere else for it to go without making him sick, but out.  “So I’d be lying if – “  He paused._

_The truth hurts, because it removes masks glued on faces._

~~~

“You know what?  This is crazy man.”

Mickey was belly down on his bed, nose deep in his Calculus book when he finally decided to speak.  He pushed himself up and sat Indian style, slamming the textbook shut.  He and Ian had been in their room for over two hours in complete silence.  It wasn’t the type of silence where one person is mad at the other, or when studying needs to get done; rather, it was a quiet where words are forced to be swallowed because the information recently spilled by one and absorbed by the other has turned on too many filters.  One filter sifts out the unnecessary or the insensitive.  Add two and three more for precaution’s sake, and eventually there’s nothing left to say.

This was one of the two days out of the week where the two boys actually had the same gap of free time in their schedule.  It was the day after their “session” for lack of better terms, and Mickey felt exposed while Ian felt obligated to tread lightly on each following moment.  Deafening silence was the result.

“What’s crazy?” Ian asked.  He put the bottle back into his desk, the two pills he already slid out twenty minutes ago hidden in the ball of his fist.  Maybe if he held them tight enough, they would crush and absorb into the palm of his hand.

“This,” Mickey motioned his right hand in a back and forth motion, indicating himself and Ian, “us sitting in here and having a Mexican standoff with speaking to each other.”  Ian frowned, because in his mind, he wasn’t ignoring Mickey at all.  If anything, he was trying to disregard himself.  “There’s a fucking elephant in this room right now.”

“You invited it.”

“What’s up with you Gallagher?”

“Up?”  Ian chuckled to himself, but it wasn’t sarcasm woven in the sound, rather it was something too close to dejection.  Laughter should never be hollow.  That sound was reserved for pounding on walls or empty cases; things with nothing behind or inside.  But there was a gaping hole in his tone, big enough for Mickey to look right through it.

“You got somethin’ you wanna tell me?” Mickey asked.  He wasn’t one to be on the giving end of questions, but it was getting ridiculous and he was beginning to regret sharing the darker parts of himself with Ian – parts he swore to himself he would never shed light on.

“I don’t know Mick.  What do you wanna know?”

“Shit, nothing Gallagher,” Mickey started as he made his way to the bay window.  He lit a cigarette as he leaned against the frame, opening the window.  “But I’m all ears if you feel the need, because it’s obvious, you clearly have one.”  For someone so guarded, Mickey was surprisingly intuitive. 

Two pills were thrown into Ian’s mouth, and he dry swallowed.  No water was needed because the nausea that was beginning to creep into his mouth caused enough saliva to pool in the back of his throat.    Mickey noticed that he just took _something_ , but said _nothing._

 “Well for starters, Frank isn’t my real father.”  Ian didn’t know why he chose to say this, but it’s the first thing that came to his mind. 

“He isn’t?” Mickey finally asked.  He didn’t know what else to say.  There wasn’t anything else he could say, really.  Ian stood from his chair, and walked over to the window, motioning for a cigarette.  Mickey handed him one, this time offering him a light.  Ian leaned in, lighting the cigarette, inhaling deeply.  He slightly lowered his head and shook it, implying a “no” as he exhaled.

“No, he isn’t,” Ian started.  _Was he doing this?_   He placed his right hand behind his neck and lifted his head.  “My uncle is.  Found out when I was fourteen.”  Ian didn’t do this.  He never allowed himself to fall apart in front of people.  He was usually the one doing the putting back together, but just as quickly as he had gathered the pieces of Mickey from the previous day, he found himself mixing in his own shards of a broken _him_.  Ian hadn’t planned on telling Mickey his story.  He was just as fucked up, a walking travesty and wearing a mask, and suddenly the tables were turned and he was the one in session.  “My mom is also bipolar and slit her wrists in the kitchen last Thanksgiving.”    

Mickey looked at Ian, his eyes neutral.  He knew he told Ian he was all ears, but Jesus, he wasn’t expecting the younger boy to spill his guts.  Was Ian feeling sorry for him after learning certain things about his fucked up life?  Because if there was one thing Mickey never needed from anyone, it was pity.  He fixed his mouth to respond, but thought better of it.  Ian continued talking anyway, not really expecting Mickey to reciprocate.

“And I’d be lying if I said I’m not just as fucked up as she is.”

~~~

_“Go ahead, turn your head.  Don’t look at me.  But dammit you’re gonna fucking hear me.”_

_Ian turned his head away from his brother, his words piercing and sticking worse than the needles currently in his veins.  There were too many tubes and too many beeps coming from too many machines.  He cringed at the sight of the hanging bags of different solutions he couldn’t identify, each one slowly creeping its way through tubular pathways into his veins.  At least none of them were blood.  Fiona had already left the hospital room with Debbie, Carl and Liam, too upset to continue looking at her younger brother in such a wrecked state.  Lip of course stayed behind to give him an unwanted piece of his mind.  Typical._

_“Fuck Ian!  You are not her!” Lip screamed.  “Fuck what the doctors say.  I know you!”  Ian still didn’t respond, the side of his face pressing harder into the pillow as he looked out the window, the snow storm outside certainly not as cold as his hospital room had become.  He shut his green eyes tight, the white pillow case becoming wet from the tears that streamed sideways down his freckled face.  “Still nothing?”_

_Lip would always scream it at him.  Tell him he wasn’t her.  It was a sophisticated tongue lashing, a throwing out of academic terms, statistics and his own theories.  All of it meant nothing to Ian, because aside from not having blonde hair and blue eyes, he was all her.  Monica was his mother and he was more than her son – he was an extension of her in the best and worst ways, an anomaly in the Gallagher sibling bloodline.  Offspring of Frank and Monica.  A vital piece for him was missing.  One offspring of not Frank and Monica.  Where did he fit in?_

_Lip began to pace back and forth, the sound of his boots hitting the linoleum floor making Ian almost sick to his stomach.  “I’ve pegged you for a lot of things Ian,” Lip said as he placed his hands behind his head, “but never a coward.”  Ian shuddered at the last word, because it was an awful truth he didn’t want to face.  “Just remember, you kill yourself, you kill five other people that love you more than you’re willing to recognize.  And that,” Lip stopped pacing, walking up to the side of Ian’s bed, his brother still looking away, “should never be an option.”_

_Ian closed his eyes tighter, the sound of the door slamming behind Lip as he left, reverberating in the hollow spaces within him._

~~~

“Shit.  How’d you do it?”

Ian looked at Mickey, unsure if he wanted to answer.  He had just revealed to him that he once tried to kill himself, but he wasn’t expecting him to want a fucking Q&A after.  Truth be told, no one had ever asked Ian how, not even Ezra, so he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t uncomfortable with what his roommate just asked.  His family only knew because they spoke to the doctor afterwards.   Ian figured answering the question would be like admitting he wasn’t as put together as he seemed, and he had a good thing going, a façade he was so used to putting on it was pretty much a part of him.  He was a good faker, and the last thing he wanted was to be made out.

“Whole bottle of Zoloft, whole bottle of Jack.”  Mickey’s eyes grew wide at what Ian just told him.  He stubbed out his cigarette and crossed his arms.

“The fuck Gallagher?” Mickey asked in disbelief.  “The hell made you do it?”

“I was already feeling like shit,” Ian began as he leaned against the frame of the window.  He turned to look outside, the cold air apparent and the gray sky foreshadowing the coming winter.  “Monica had just come home from the hospital, and I overheard her and Frank arguing one night.  She was blaming herself for me being, you know, messed up.”

Ian dropped his head, the images of his mother coming home from the hospital vivid as if it happened yesterday.  Her wrists were still wrapped in gauze, the white where the wounds were decorated in a hideous dark red of dried blood.  It was just more life lost, because the wounds had yet to heal and each drop that escaped and absorbed its way into the bandages was a mockery – _you’re not healed, probably never will be._   Ian looked back outside as he spoke.

“I’d just been prescribed an antidepressant by my doctor.  Frank just laughed, drunk of course, saying I wasn’t his son anyway and Monica responded, _“I didn’t want him when I first found out I was pregnant because I knew he wasn’t yours!”_   I cracked.”  Ian dropped his head and Mickey bit the inside of his cheek trying to suppress a sudden impulse.

“That’s so fucked up,” Mickey responded.  He should have continued biting down on his cheek because letting go meant _letting be_ , and that could have inevitably led to some type of surrender he wasn’t ready for.  He then began to abuse his bottom lip with his teeth, biting on flesh and desire.  Ian looked so vulnerable.

And Mickey would be lying is he said his gut didn’t twist at the sight.

“Tell me ‘bout it.  What Monica said, I already knew, but hearing her say it like that,” Ian rubbed his hands down his face, “it fucked my head up ya know, more than it was.  I skipped school the next day, raided Frank’s stash of alcohol, sat in the living room and emptied my bottle of Zoloft and the Jack Daniels.  Lip was home that week, and came in after spending the night out as some girl’s house and found me unconscious on the floor.”  Ian looked up and turned his head towards Mickey.  The older boy was staring intently at him, chewing nervously on his bottom lip.  “Guess deep down I wanted someone to find me, otherwise I would have locked myself in my room.”

A moment of silence surrounded the two boys, so many questions hanging in the quiet, hovering like tiny rain clouds ready to burst.  It seemed like this window was where conversations became more than exchanged words, and moments covered in cigarette smoke became more than the pulling and blowing in therapeutic instances.  Each slow burn of the paper smoldered uncertainties and reduced walls to ash.  Mickey wasn’t good with words; he never tried to be, so silence was something he rested easily in.  But then he looked at Ian, sadness in his green eyes tugging at Mickey’s insides, and suddenly the silence wasn’t so comfortable.  He could hear his ~~wants~~ thoughts.

“You’re here, and that’s a good thing.”  A small smile spread across Ian’s face from Mickey’s words.  It made Mickey almost sick to his stomach, because he’d perfected the art of suppressing unwanted feelings, but being around Ian caused him to revert back to being a novice _._ He quickly beat the feelings down, although temporarily stifled, because Ian decided to initiate some form of contact.

“Well now I guess we’re both open books,” Ian said as he patted the side of Mickey’s bicep.  The gesture was common, something guys did to each other, cordial and harmless.  But there was electricity in Ian’s fingertips, pressing waves of energy into Mickey’s skin.  Normally, the contact would be quickly broken, and both people would move on to the next instant, but Ian’s hand lingered and Mickey didn’t push him away.  The older boy didn’t know what was happening, his mind telling him to pull away, his body ignoring the signals.  Ian’s hand slid slowly down Mickey’s arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind he wanted Ian to retrace upward. 

Moments vary.  Some are in keeping with normal timing, each minute accurate and right on time with what’s taking place – driving to work, watching a favorite television show, baking a cake.  Some are quick and hasty, ten minutes feeling like one, and before you know it, an hour has gone by without notice – listening to music, writing a paper, exercising at the gym.  Then there are moments where time seems to stop, each minute passing like honey gliding off a spoon, slow and steady, sweet and painstaking – staring into eyes, the space in time right before a _kiss_.  Whether or not it was about to happen, the seconds before Ian’s torso was pressed against his, hands making their way down his sides while his lips ghosted over his, Mickey felt as if those seconds were minutes piled on top of minutes.  Their lips were inches apart, but the nerves gathered in Mickey’s chest made the distance between seem much further, with miles to go before –

“Shit!  I’m so sorry!” Ian yelled as he pulled back.  He threw both of his hands behind his head and turned his side towards Mickey.  “I shouldn’t have done that.”  Mickey didn’t respond, so Ian turned back so he could face the older boy, only to be met by his hips pressing into his and one tattooed hand snaking its way up the back of his neck.  Ian shivered from the contact, and Mickey didn’t know what was coming over him, but the spoon was dipped back into the honey and held upside down for the _slow drip_.  Ian leaned in, their lips almost touching as he leaned in closer and _closer._

Loud banging resounded in the room just as Mickey’s grip tightened behind Ian’s neck.  “Fuck!” Mickey bellowed as he stepped back from Ian, the loud knocking on the door continuing.  He rubbed both hands over his face just as a familiar voice began to resound also.  _They were so fucking close_.  Mickey suddenly felt like an idiot, yanking his arm out of Ian’s grasp as he reached to try and calm him down.  He walked over to his bed as Ian stood dumbfounded.

“Are you guys gonna open up or what?!” Sanai’s voice pierced through the door.  “I know you’re in there, I can hear you walking!”  Ian chuckled to himself, partly in disbelief at how conveniently their moment was ruined, and partly in annoyance at how quickly Mickey reverted within himself.  His heart was still racing, and although the older boy was across the room, nose back in his Calculus book, Ian knew Mickey’s heart raced at the same speed.  He thought about saying something to him, but decided against it.  He walked to their room door to open it.

“Took you long enough,” Sanai said as she playfully pushed Ian’s shoulder.  She was followed by Jessica, Simon and Milo who were all laughing at the typical hysterics of Sanai.

“The hell are you guys doing here?” Ian asked.  The annoyance in his voice must have been apparent, because Sanai furrowed her eyebrows.

“Why, were we interrupting something?” Milo asked sarcastically as he threw his arms around Ian’s waist.  He couldn’t help but notice how quickly Mickey looked over at them, his bottom lip once again being chomped on by his teeth.  Ian shoved Milo off of him, making his way to his bed.

“No man.  We – I just wasn’t expecting you guys that’s all.”

“We were on our way back from the Student Center.  We thought we’d stop by since this was on the way, make sure you remembered about tonight.  You didn’t forget did you?” Sanai asked as she plopped down on Ian’s bed next to him.

“Forget what?”

“It’s V’s birthday idiot!  Kev is throwing her a surprise party at the Half Pint tonight.”

Of course Ian forgot.  How could he remember when his thoughts were consumed with dark hair, blue eyes and an _almost_ kiss.  “Shit Sanai, it totally slipped my mind.  It’s just, it’s a weekday and I’ve just been caught up in school work.”

“Ha!  All the more to come babes,” Sanai responded as she cupped Ian’s face. 

“You comin’ Mickey?” Simon asked as he slouched in Ian’s bean bag.  “You know you’re invited.”  Mickey looked up from his Calculus book, trying his hardest _not_ to look at Ian.

“It’s not an option, he’s coming!  V will expect him there,” Sanai responded before Mickey could formulate his own response.  Mickey wished this girl would shut her big mouth for a change.

“Nah, I have studying to do.” 

“Come on Mickey, you’re a genius, you don’t need to study.  It’s just for tonight.”  Mickey frowned at Jessica, her comment making him annoyed.  He was trying his best to avoid going anywhere with Ian tonight, but it was apparent his friends were not going to back down.  He shot the red head a glance, a plea in his green eyes and as much as Mickey wanted to slap that look out of them, he caved.  He would play off what just happened and not talk about it.  Simple.

“Fine,” Mickey scoffed.  “We practically live at this place anyways.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Milo said sarcastically.  This guy was more sarcastic than Ian, and it was starting to piss Mickey off.  To make his mood worse, the brunette hovered over Ian, propping himself up with both of his arms as he whispered something in his ear.  A smile spread across Ian’s face right before he lightly shoved Milo’s chest.  Mickey almost felt sick to his stomach, not from the sight but from the obvious jealousy he felt.  It was unwanted, but there nonetheless.

“Well we’re getting there at 7pm, Kev told V to meet him there at 7:30pm.  She thinks he’s just taking her to dinner,” Sanai said as she stood up and made her way towards the door.  “Be there or be square!”

“We’ll be there,” Ian responded. 

“See ya later boys,” Milo said to Ian and Mickey as he followed Sanai out the door, Simon and Jessica trailing close behind.  As Ian shut the door, he could feel Mickey staring.  He turned to look towards him, only to be met by a blank stare.  If he had something to say, he certainly couldn’t find the words as they trapped themselves in the recesses of his mind.  A lump formed in his throat as Mickey parted his mouth to speak, only to shut it and rub his thumb across his bottom lip.

They remained in silence for the remainder of the time in their room.  Back to square one.

***

Despite the bite of the air outside, Ian and Mickey decided to walk to the bar.  They thought about a cab, the only discourse shared between them since they left, but decided to save the money and put it in a card for V.  They stopped at Duane Reed on the way and picked up a birthday card, given neither one of them remembered to get a gift.  To Ian’s surprise, it wasn’t as awkward between them as he anticipated.  Although no words were exchanged, Mickey gave Ian a cigarette when he noticed the younger boy patting his pockets and cursing to himself when he realized he left his back at the dorm.  He offered him a light, not looking away as he leaned in.  It wasn’t uncomfortable, though not exactly relaxed either.  Nevertheless, there was no real tension, and Ian found some type of hope in that, despite how small. 

When they approached the entrance of the Half Pint, it was pretty dark inside.  “What the hell?” Ian said as he pushed open the door.

“SURPRISE!”  Ian stumbled back into Mickey, the roar of voices startling him.  Confetti was flying everywhere as noise makers were blown.  The excitement on everyone’s faces quickly dissipated when they realized it wasn’t Veronica. 

“What the fuck!  You guys are late!” Kev yelled from behind the bar.  “Get your asses in here and hide!  V will be here any minute!”  Ian glanced at his iPhone, 7:25pm.  Shit, they were late.  They quickly ran to the pool table, crouching behind it with Simon and Sanai.

Not even 3 minutes later, V came through the doors, a repeat “SURPRISE” screamed out by everyone followed by confetti and noise makers.  She grabbed her chest as she screeched with excitement when she realized what was going on.  Kev made his way from behind the bar holding a cake with sparklers for candles.  It was all so cheesy, but so _them_.  Ian smiled at the sight of a crying V, as she leaned in to kiss Kev over the cake, completely disregarding the sparklers.  Then as he turned toward Mickey, he noticed he was also smiling.  Something pulled in the middle of his chest as he watched his roommate, completely unaware he was watching him, his eyes slightly wrinkling in the corners as he smiled.  It was sincere and short lived, as Mickey turned to face Ian.  He let the smile fade and cleared his throat as he rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his thumb. 

“Beer?” Mickey asked Ian.  The red head figured the question was the first thing he could think of to deflect the candid moment seconds ago.  Ian nodded his head and followed him to the bar.  Two female bartenders bought two beers over to the boys after Mickey ordered.  They didn’t speak, but all of the commotion going on around them made it less awkward.

The beers turned into shots of Jack Daniels, and an hour later, Ian found himself on the dance floor grinding into the back of Jessica as she flung her blonde hair around.  Milo and Sanai were also on the dance floor along with a very drunk V, Kev and Simon.   They were all surrounded by drunken people Ian didn’t recognize, the floor was crowded, but he could care less because he was also drunk.  Mickey was playing a game of pool with one of Kev’s friends, the beginning stages of inebriation obvious in his movements.  While on the dance floor, Ian would glance over towards the pool table, noticing Mickey leaned up against the wall when it wasn’t his turn, _watching_ him as he sipped on Jack.  Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it wasn’t, but even when he noticed Ian catching him mid-stare, Mickey didn’t look away.  Everything was turning into a blur, things meshing into one another, nothing no longer defined.  That’s what happens when inhibitions are lowered. 

At the end of the night, Kev found himself carrying V to one of the booths with cushioned seats.  She was plastered.  “Well, this means she had a kick ass time!” Kev laughed as he placed her on the seat, laying her down.  “Well, you don’t have to go home Ian, but you gotta get the hell up outta here!” he said to Ian as he turned around.  The party was over and everyone was beginning to leave.

“We’re heading out guys!” Sanai yelled as she walked out the door with Simon and Jessica.  They all lived in the same dorm so they were leaving together.  Milo had already left about twenty minutes earlier to head to the upperclassmen apartments.  “You and Mickey call a cab you hear!”  Ian waved his hand as he ran to the bathroom, his bladder on the verge of exploding. 

After exiting the bathroom, Mickey was standing at the bar waiting for him.  “You ready?” Mickey asked as he patted his pants pockets looking for his cigarettes.  Ian smiled and nodded.  “I don’t have to carry you out do I?”  Ian was swaying as he stood, and as Mickey watched him he thought, _“Here we go again,”_ flashes of the first time Ian went back to the dorm drunk playing in his head. 

“Nah, I’m good.”  And he was. 

The cab ride back to the dorm was quiet, Mickey having to wake Ian up when they arrived.  Ian only wished he hadn’t chosen to wake him up by gripping his thigh as he shook him awake. 

***

It was always in the middle of the night when it would start to happen, and this night was no exception.  Ian was jolted out of his sleep with a headache pounding behind his eyes, the sound of Mickey struggling in his sleep the initiating factor.  This was a routine; get out of bed, walk over to Mickey’s bed, fight the invisible demons that pinned him down as he struggled to claw his way back to consciousness.  Of course Ian would endure a hit here and there, playing the dream catcher.  Honestly, Mickey should just buy one, but Ian knew the older boy believed in none of that shit and would consider the idea idiotic.  He didn’t even bother putting on a shirt like he usually did, his body heavy as he walked the green mile over to Mickey’s bed.

“Mick, wake up,” Ian said weaker than usual.  He began to lightly shake Mickey by both of his shoulders, the feeling of his sweat no longer foreign as the memory was imprinted in the palms of his hands.

“No!” Mickey screamed as he jerked out of his sleep.  He was still on his back as his eyes darted around the room frantically as he came to, them eventually landing on Ian who was still hovering over him. 

“Good, you’re awake.  You were dreaming again.”  Ian began to stand up straight, his duty now fulfilled, but before he could pull away, he was stopped by two tattooed hands gripping his wrists.

This has happened before.  Mickey gripping onto Ian as if he was afraid to let go, fearful he would slip back into the nightmare he just pulled him out of; it was a normal reaction Ian figured.  Except this time, Mickey didn’t let go.  In fact, his grip tightened as his blue eyes found their way into Ian’s green ones, getting _lost_.  And like the slow burn of the dozens of cigarettes they had shared, all of the hesitation and fear that Mickey kept in between him and Ian, finally turned to ash.

Mickey sat up until his lips were hovering over Ian’s.  They stayed that way for several seconds, questions hovering in the space where their breath met.  _Are you sure?  I’m not pulling away this time._ The initial contact of a first kiss is usually soft, done in sweet anticipation.  This was far from it.  Lips and teeth clashed almost desperately as their tongues fought each other.  It was overwhelming, even for Ian, his attempts to pull up and catch a breath thwarted by Mickey gripping his back and pulling him on top of him.  The way the older boy was kissing him felt almost as if he was trying to crawl inside him.  If this wasn’t possible, he had certainly inhaled him by now.

Mickey bit down on Ian’s lip as he pressed their pelvis bones together, their growing erections rubbing against each other.  A moan escaped Ian’s mouth.  He removed Mickey’s wife beater, the older boy wasting no time to reconnect their lips, his tongue navigating the inside of Ian’s mouth as if searching for something.  Mickey’s muscles were tense, but Ian could slowly feel them relaxing into him, so he took his hand and snaked it under the waistband of Mickey’s shorts.  _“This is it,”_ Ian thought, but when his hand gripped Mickey’s stiffening cock, he was stopped.  Mickey broke their kiss and began to push on Ian’s chest.

“Stop,” Mickey began as he sat up.  Ian frowned, the look of rejection written all over his face, and as much as that made Mickey cringe inside, he couldn’t go through with it.  “I – I can’t fucking do this!” he shouted as grabbed his dark hair with both hands.  “Fuck!”  He punched down on his bed, then brought his knees to his chest.  He rested his forehead on his knees.  He couldn’t look at Ian, because once again he was a coward.

“I don’t get it,” Ian said as he stood up.  He placed both of his hands behind his head.  “One minute you’re hot, the next second you’re cold.  I know you feel something Mick, because I can feel it to.  What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Mickey said almost angrily, his forehead still pressed into his knees.  “Why don’t you complete that question, and fucking say it Gallagher?  What’s wrong _with me?_   Because you and I both _know_ what’s wrong.”

“Mick, look, I didn’t mean – “

“Save it.  Look I’m sorry for pushing up on you.  It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.  I just wish you’d just give in to who you are.”  Mickey lifted his head, finally looking at Ian.  The look on his face was somewhere between incredulity and resentment.

“Who I am?”  Mickey’s voice was cold and almost disconnected.  Ian shuddered at the sound.  “Who I am has fuck all to do with anything Gallagher.”  The realization hit Ian like a bus, and suddenly they were back in the white walled room where Mickey bared it all.  Ian closed his eyes, the memory of how bright the lights were after the darker parts of his roommate were shared.  His eyes hurt.  “And we’d both be lying if we said we don’t know why I’m so guarded.”

~~~

_Mickey breathed in deeply.  He would start this off again._

_“I’d be lying if I said I hate it when you wake me up out of my dreams.”  Ian laughed within himself, because every shove and punch he got from Mickey always made him think otherwise._

_“I’d be lying if I said I don’t listen for you when you sleep,” Ian continued.  He felt his cheeks get flush when Mickey turned to him, obviously surprised he listened to him while he slumbered._

_“I’d be lying if I said your red hair wasn’t the first thing I noticed the first time I saw you,” Mickey continued, making sure to not look at Ian after saying something so gay.  But he could see that stupid grin in his periphery, tugging at the corners of his roommate’s mouth._

_“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find your knuckle tattoos crude and amusing when I first saw them.”  Mickey side-eyed Ian.  Ok, so he wasn’t the first person to ever find his tattoos stupid.  Maybe they were.  The older boy picked up the torch and decided to continue, despite his inner protests._

_“I’d be lying if I said you don’t intimidate me sometimes.”  Ian intimidating Mickey wasn’t something he could wrap his head around, given the boy was intimidating himself._

_“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t gay.”  Mickey shifted on the couch.  Ian could tell he was uncomfortable from what he just said, but Ian figured by now his sexuality was apparent to Mickey.  And he’d definitely be lying to himself if he said he didn’t sometimes feel led on to believe that his roommates was too._

_“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t already know that.”_

_“I’d be lying if I said I don’t like you.”  Shit.  Diarrhea of the mouth.  Mickey paused after Ian’s comment and there were a few moments of awkward silence.  Ian expected him to jump up and run out of there, or deck him one, but he didn’t.  Instead, he took a shaky breath, and carried on._

_“I’d be lying if I said the reason I have nightmares  – “ Mickey cut himself off, rubbing both hands over his face.  “Fuck this, I can’t.”_

_“It’s alright Mickey, I won’t judge,” Ian said as sincerely as possible.  And he wouldn’t.  Mickey chewed at the inside of his cheek, unsure if he should tell Ian this._

_“I’d be lying if I said it’s not because my uncle Vlad used to molest me.”  Ian’s face fell.  Was he hearing Mickey right?  He had to stop him now._

_“He what?  Mick, I’m so sorry.  You don’t have to talk any – “  Mickey just cut him off._

_“I’d be lying if I said he didn’t constantly threaten to start doing things to Mandy if I opened my stupid little mouth, maybe even kill her.”_

_“Mick, please – “_

_“I’d be lying if I said my uncle didn’t threaten to tell my dad about who I really was, because he always saw it, and my dad would kill me if he ever knew.”  Ian placed his hand on Mickey’s, not caring if he flinched or threw it off.  But he didn’t.  He simply lowered his head and stopped talking._

_And Ian would be lying if he said a shiver didn’t travel down his spine when Mickey wrapped his index finger around his pinky, and lightly squeezed._

_So Vladimir was/is the Shadow Man.  Ian realizes that now.  Session over._

* * *

 [I1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't too emotional to read. It was definitely hard writing it, and I went back in forth in my head about Mickey's story - I knew this is where I was taking it from the very beginning. But, the good thing is, it's all up hill from here! Well, up, and maybe down once more, then up, up, up. Depression, anxiety and abuse is never easy to write about, especially when you've suffered from one (depression and anxiety in my case). Once again, thank you for reading! :)


	10. Thief - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're my hiding place. I go to you when I'm messed up.” - Tarryn Fisher, _Thief_

_“Give it back!”_

_It was always “give it back” because he never initially got it in the first place.  So he became a thief early on – a skill he would master and something that would become a common part of him like the dirt under his fingernails.  Fuck it.  Everything was for the taking.  Mickey had it down to a science.  Take, take, take.  That way, it wouldn’t sting as much when someone took something from you.  You’re all stolen “goods” anyway, so what’s one more thing?  If only innocence could be that simple._

_“Fuck off Mandy!” a seven-year-old Mickey screamed as he pushed his scrawny little sister down to the living room floor._

_“I’m telling mommy you took it from me and that you used the bad word!” she yelled back, her blue eyes watering.  Mickey simply shrugged never breaking eye contact with the object in his hand.  Last year he did the same thing sans the profanity he picked up from ear hustling conversations between Terry and his “clients.”_

_It was Christmas at the Milkovich house which meant more meth and guns to go around for all of the south side, and too many Serbian accents to decipher.  Christmas for them wasn’t really Christmas at all, but more like a huge drugs and arms deal.  It was a family affair.  And once again, Mickey got a hand-me-down gift while Mandy got something new.  It was his as far as he was concerned.  He examined his stolen prize in front of him, grinning wide, exposing his missing two front teeth.  “That’s all you should want right there,” his mother said to him earlier, pointing at the space in his gums after Mickey complained about his gift._

_“Mickey!” Mandy cried, the tears now streaming down her red cheeks.  She jumped to her feet, her tiny arms flailing as she hit her brother repeatedly.  Mickey simply turned his back, an angry Mandy finally giving up and running to the kitchen to tell their mother.  Across the room, his uncle Vladimir leaned towards Terry, who could care less about the commotion his two children were causing, whispering as he watched Mickey._

_“It was the same thing with your boy last year, no?” Vladimir said to Terry, his accent heavy.  Terry looked over at his son who was admiring what he was holding.  He took a long pull on his cigar, assessing the situation._

_“He’s fucking seven Vlad.”  Terry waved away the question and resumed what he was doing, making lines of coke on the coffee table._

_“Smesni decko da je jedan,” Vladimir said in Serbian as he continued to watch Mickey examine the gift in his hand.  He certainly was a “funny” boy._

_Unaware of his surroundings and who was watching, Mickey held up the Ken doll that came with the Malibu Barbie their mother bought Mandy.  Last year it was Cinderella Barbie and Prince Ken.  He slowly scanned his eyes over the doll, lifting up his Hawaiian print shirt exposing the plastic six pack abs.  It wasn’t enough.  He then zeroed his blue eyes on the doll’s shorts, and with his index finger, pulled the waistband forward, looking at what was underneath.  He paused for a few seconds before scrunching his nose and furrowing his eyebrows in disappointment.  What he was looking for obviously wasn’t there.  Same as last year._

_He threw the Ken doll down to the floor and made his way to the kitchen to see what food he could sneak into his room._

~~~

He didn’t know how everything came to this.  It was as if he blinked his eyes, and before he knew it, he found himself in _this_ bed, next to _this_ guy.  Despite the familiarity, it just felt _wrong._   Ian turned on his other side so that he was no longer spooning with the boy in bed with him.  He studied his sleeping face, taking note of his features and cursed at himself for letting it get this far because the features weren’t the ones he wanted – the ones that burned the back of his eyelids every time he closed them.  And the burn was so good, reaching into his brain, sure to never leave the recesses of his mind.  “Fuck,” he said to himself silently as he tugged at his red hair.  He must have said it too loud because the guy next to him began to stir.  He opened his brown eyes and Ian thought he was bored of those eyes.      

“Good morning,” he said to Ian, the smile tugging at his lips not even close to the one he longed for.  He was a good looking guy, he really was, his facial hair perfectly faded and trimmed, lined up along his strong jaw line.  But he wasn’t _the_ guy and Ian felt himself getting sick to his stomach at the thought.

“Morning,” Ian responded nonchalantly.

He doesn’t know how things started back up with Milo, but Ian certainly knew _why_.  The best way to get over a guy is to get under another one, or _on top of_ in Ian’s case.  He maneuvered so that he was on his back staring at the ceiling, his bare freckled chest now exposed from underneath the mess of sheets.  Milo propped himself up on one elbow and began to trace lines up and down Ian’s chest with his free hand.  He inwardly cringed at the touch, the disgust probably showing in his face as Milo suddenly stopped and frowned as he looked down at Ian.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.  Ian turned his head so he was looking at him again. 

“Nothing,” he lied.  He sat up and swung his legs around the side of the bed, grabbing his boxers off of the floor.  He pulled them on as he stood up and began to put on the rest of his clothes.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought you only had one class on Fridays at 3:00pm.  It’s only 8:30am.”  Milo sat up, lining his back with his headboard.  “You can hang out here until then you know.”

“Thanks, but I gotta get back to my dorm so I can meet Sanai, Simon and Jessica.  We’re starting studying for finals,” Ian lied.  He hated lying, especially to people who didn’t deserve the dishonesty. 

“Oh, well ok,” Milo said clearly disappointed.  Ian looked at him, the defeat imprinted in his face making him feel guilty.  He leaned over Milo and planted a hard, fast kiss on his forehead.  “Wow,” Milo started as he propped his head up, placing his chin in his hand.  “The forehead kiss.”

“C’mon Milo, it’s not like that.”  But it was.  Ian knew he was using him to make himself feel better.  He and Mickey hadn’t been speaking lately, for the past two weeks to be exact, ever since they kissed.  They had gotten into an argument afterwards, Mickey swearing he would never let things escalate like that between him and Ian, _ever._   Ian dropped his head as he remembered the words that were injected into him like venom. 

 

_“And we’d both be lying if we said we don’t know why I’m so guarded.”_

_“Look, I’m sorry.  I know I’ve never been…you know…but I’ve got my issues too.  Just thought I could, I don’t know.”  Mickey laughed at Ian’s comment and failure to find the right words to say.  It wasn’t a laugh that you hear after someone tells a joke, or anything amusing, rather it was disturbing.  It screamed ‘cut the bullshit.’_

_“Oh you’re sorry that you never been what?  Molested by a disgusting pedophile?  Beaten brutally by your father, or uncle, or whoever the fuck your donor is?”_

_“Mickey, you don’t have to be like that.  I’m just trying to – “_

_“To what?” Mickey cut through Ian’s sentence.  “Understand me?  Because guess what Gallagher?  No one ever fucking will!”  He stood up from his bed and began to pace back and forth.  “You know what, this was my fault.”_

_“Mick, it wasn’t just you.”_

_“Save it Gallagher.  But don’t worry; I won’t let something like this happen ever again, ever.  This,” Mickey motioned his hand between him and Ian, “will never fucking be.”_

 

Ian looked at Milo, suddenly wishing for some sort of constancy, and for the first time he longed for home.  He missed his best friend and the stability their friendship gave him – it was the only thing that kept him grounded.  He was glad he would be going home for Christmas and winter break in another week.  “I’ll see you later?” Ian said guiltily in a half-question to Milo.

“Yeah, sure,” Milo responded, but the undertone of his response was covered in skepticism.  He then turned towards Ian who was shifting his weight from one foot to the other as if he was unsure if he should just leave so abruptly.  “It’s him isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Ian responded puzzled.  Milo shook his head at Ian’s oblivion.  Deliberate or unintended, it made Milo laugh inwardly.  He had a third eye for this type of thing.

“Mickey.”

“What?” Ian asked incredulously.  His reaction was so paradoxical given the truth behind the question and the name.  It was a tongue in cheek moment and Milo could sniff those out like a bloodhound.

“Look, I know guys like him back home in Boston.  Closeted homosexual homophobes.  Damaged goods.”  The juxtaposition of the words made Ian frown, pissed off really.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Ian lied again.  _Denial is a bitch._ “And you also know nothing about him.  Don’t speak on things you haven’t got a clue about.”

“I may like you Ian, but I’m not stupid or blind.”  He stood up from his bed, put on his boxers and made his way towards Ian.  “I know the way you feel about your roommate goes beyond thinking he’s cute.  I’ve seen the looks, and now you two have been…I don’t know…weird.  Like something’s happened.  And I may not know him, but something tells me a guy like him is not up for what you have to offer.”  Ian’s face fell so fast, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it if he tried.  Instead he found himself picking it up off of the floor because Milo just hit the nail on the head.  Instead of responding, Ian simply dropped his head.  Milo got the hint.  “Look,” he started as he grabbed Ian’s hand.  “I get it.  And as crazy as this may sound, I’m still here if you need me.”  Ian looked up, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Thanks.”  He leaned in and placed his lips on Milo’s, kissing him a lot slower this time, the grip on his hand tightening before he pulled away.  Milo was slightly smiling, but his brown eyes said otherwise.  Ian knew right then that he wouldn’t find himself back in his bed. 

He walked out of his room, Milo continuing to stand in the middle of the floor as he watched Ian leave.

***

The doorknob felt heavy as Ian turned it.  He closed his eyes as he pushed the door open, hoping with every fiber in his body that Mickey wouldn’t be there despite the earliness of the day.  It was too much lately, the silence weighing around his neck like an albatross.  There were too many unspoken truths lingering in the ether, each word smacking Ian in the face each time he avoided Mickey, which was laborious given they shared a room.  To make things worse, Mickey asked to be switched to another Peer Mentor to complete his sessions.  Maybe it was best that way.  He opened his eyes and felt a sense of relief when he saw the room was empty.  He exhaled, not even realizing he had been holding his breath the entire time.  That was a thing lately – breathing being hard, the fear that he would inhale more of Mickey than he already had wrapping around his wind pipe.  At least at Milo’s, breath came easy.

He needed to get clean; scrub at the layers where Milo had been and Mickey hadn’t.  Ian got nauseous at the thought as he changed into his bath robe and made his way to the showers.  It was Friday morning, and most students either didn’t have class on Fridays, or had them late so it would be pretty empty.  Making his way into the showers, he heard water running from one other, but other than that, it was empty.  He disrobed and stepped inside the shower stall, turning the nozzle too close to all the way hot.  Ian at this point needed to feel the hot prickling of the water beat down on him while guilt and uncertainty washed down the drain.  So he stayed in the shower for what seemed like forever as the water ran from the top of his head, the river-like lines creating clean pathways through soapsuds down his body.  He would stand there _until_. 

He eventually looked down at his hands, now severely wrinkled.  It was a mockery of sorts, his skin mimicking the ruts and folds in his mind which had been submerged far too long in things not of water.  He was consumed and decided to finally step out.  The other shower was off, so thinking he was alone, Ian opened the shower curtain before grabbing his towel, which would have been fine in a bathroom that was _actually_ empty.  Instead, his eyes landed on a familiar form perched at the sink, the mirror in front of the guy serving as a direct line of vision to Ian’s very naked form.  Even as a reflection, those blue eyes pierced through him in a way words could not describe.  Ian watched Mickey’s eyes scan slowly down his body, and while he should have been grabbing for his towel, he stood there.  While looks can kill, they can also freeze, and Ian was frozen.  Mickey finally tore his eyes away, releasing Ian from the stare.

“Shit, sorry man,” Mickey mumbled as he grabbed his toothbrush and started to walk out.   _Turn around to look back and you’ll turn to a pillar of salt._ The desire to look back at Ian was sinful in a way, but that didn’t stop Mickey from doing so.  One glance and he knew he would become like salted stone, but the move was as involuntary as the thought.  Before fully exiting the bathroom, he glanced back at the red head who slowly wrapped his slender hips with his towel, the look on his face something too far from embarrassed and pretty damn close to lust.  Mickey cursed at himself for wanting the towel to drop.  He wished he hadn’t seen what he knew was there all along, in fact he’d felt it pressing against his leg as they kissed desperately in his bed that night.  “ _Fucking firecrotch,”_ he thought to himself.  And suddenly he felt seven years old again, curious and eager to find the Ken doll’s “goods.”  The only difference being Ian’s goods were there, far from hidden beneath a plastic façade, but flesh and _real_ , and _really_ fucking substantial.  He inadvertently licked and bit his bottom lip at the thought as he stormed quickly down the hallway.   He hoped he could grab his shit and hit the library before Ian got back.  And Mickey hated libraries.

When Ian got back to the room, Mickey was already gone.  He was disappointed and relieved at the same time because although the tension was high between the two of them, there was nothing Ian wanted more than to cut it with a knife.  Instead, they cut their tongues and hung their heads low in failed efforts to avoid eye contact and any exchanging of words.  But despite avoiding what their bodies screamed at them to do, their minds let them have it – endless thoughts of the conversations they used to share while blowing smoke out the window, and stolen glances from faces too proud to blush, but too far gone to subdue it.  In their imagination the possibilities were endless, all of the _‘could’ve-would’ve-should’ve’_ a constant in what would’ve happened had Mickey not stopped them that night.  As he got dressed, Ian thought more of Mickey’s eyes and how they scanned his body.  If only for a few seconds, those first seconds were unashamed and fueled by a raw, initial reaction.  But then Mickey turned around, and thinking back, Ian wished he would’ve dropped the towel to hold his gaze longer.  His face got hot at the thought and he was certain his face was red.  He was glad when his phone rang, because a few minutes more of thinking about Mickey and those fucking eyes and how they violated his body would have had Ian jacking off in his bed.  He picked up his phone, a small smile forming in the corner of his mouth.

“Mornin’ good sir,” Ian answered.  He heard some shuffling in the background, followed by that unique scratchy voice he knew all too well.  A much needed smile stretched across Ian’s face.

“He lives!” Ezra responded sarcastically through a half laugh.  The sound of rustling paper filled the receiver and Ian instantly knew what his best friend was doing.

“Wrapping my gift when you should be studying for finals, huh?”

“Ha!  Maybe.”

“I take that as a yes.”

“You know nothing.”

“Ez.”

“I might be…might be not,” Ezra responded.  Noises of what Ian guessed to be a tape dispenser accompanied Ezra’s sarcasm.

“I told you not to get me anything this year.”

“You say that every year,” Ezra barked.  Ian let out a long breath, because they went through this every Christmas.  Ian didn’t really believe in gifts other than reluctantly getting them for his siblings, but he somehow got dragged into the tradition by his best friend who was always so gung-ho for it.  Every year Ian wanted to forego exchanging any gifts.  Every year Ezra told him he would eventually change his mind.  Every year Ian never did.  Scrooge had nothing on him.  But, ‘tis the season.

“Whatever man.  You never fail to talk me into this.  So, what’d you get me?”  Ezra scoffed at Ian’s question.

“You’ll see when you come home.  I mean, you _are_ coming home right?” 

“Yes I’m coming home, so stop worrying.”

“Who said I was worrying?”

“No one, but I know you Ez,” Ian laughed.

“Whatever man.  Anyway, when are you gettin in?”  More ruffling of paper filled the background, and Ian was certain Ezra was probably drowning in it by now, his curly hair disheveled as he bit his lip in concentration.  The mental picture of his best friend’s probable state gave Ian a sudden sense of urgency to get home.  He needed the amusement.

“I’ll be landing next Saturday, late afternoon.”

“Cool,” he responded through more paper sounds.  “Hey, uh, I gotta go now.  Got class in like twenty minutes.  I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Later.”  The click at the other end of the phone bought Ian back to Earth.

He quickly got dressed.  Getting dressed slowly meant more time in the dorm room, a space where Mickey was so _concentrated_.  He could smell him here, and if he thought long enough, hard enough, he could still _taste_ him here.  Ian cursed to himself for still hanging on to the remnants of a kiss that probably should have never happened.  He glanced out the room window, the falling snow a frozen promise to kill off whatever germ it was he continually inhaled into his lungs.  The cold air was much needed.  Ian grabbed his phone as he walked, sending a text to the one person he told himself he would leave alone.

[ **Ian 10:45am:** U busy?]

[ **Milo 10:49am:** For u?  No….]

[ **Ian 11:01am:** Meet me at the diner across from the Half Pint in 30?]

[ **Milo 11:04am:** Sure thing.  See u there ;-)]

Ian cringed at the wink face Milo sent him.  He knew he was probably getting himself back into what he told himself to avoid, but he needed the distraction.  He told himself he just wanted to talk, and maybe for the rest of the week, Ian would do just that until he found himself in the sky headed back home.  _Talk and nothing more._

It was going to be a long week.

***

The week was a blur of too much studying, too little sleep, too much Milo and too little Mickey.  Ian rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and turned to glance at the clock…in Milo’s room…in Milo’s bed.  Again.  _Fuck._ Brunch at the diner turned into Ian sleeping over Milo’s four out of the past seven nights.  Ian did stay in his own room three of those nights, but hearing Mickey struggle in his sleep without being able to come to his usual rescue killed something inside of him.  But, there was something different about the way Mickey dreamed.  The fight was not as brutal, Mickey thrashing and throwing far less punches than normal.  He also woke up with more ease, Ian catching him frantically rubbing his eyes and scanning the darkness as if making sure he was nowhere near him.  He’d settle back into his mattress after glancing at Ian’s side of the room, the younger boy’s assumed slumber seeming to allow Mickey to go back to sleep.  Little did he know the red head’s sleep was always with one eye open, fixed directly on his form.  So Ian would run to Milo’s the next day, and the pattern alternated for the week.  But they were behaved and only talked, Ian confiding in Milo, sharing things with him he knew he never could with Mickey.  They were good, they were, managing to not fuck – until last night.  Ian had serendipity to thank for that, and not the sweet, romantic kind.

They had gone out last night with Sanai, Simon and Jessica, Sanai having the bright idea of going to Houlihan’s for dinner.  Ian didn’t care too much for the food there, but he cared less for arguing and didn’t even attempt to protest.  Last night’s events could have been avoided, if they would have just went straight to the Half Pint as planned.

 

_The music was shitty when they hit the door.  The food would probably be even shittier.  Ian groaned inwardly, trying his best to suck it up and hide the disgust in his face.  He really wasn’t in the mood to be out tonight, and at fucking Houlihan’s of all places.  He never cared for the restaurant, not since he found a hair in his loaded potato skins at the one back in Chicago when he went with Ezra once.  Of course Sanai noticed Ian’s knitted brow and pursed lips._

_“Straighten up that face Ian!  Finals are overrrrrr!” she shouted above the crappy music.  Ian rolled his eyes, earning a nice shove from her.  Milo looped his arm through his, a smile tugging at his lips when Ian looked at him._

_“That bad tonight, huh?” Milo asked._

_“Yeah.”  Ian dropped his head.  Milo knew immediately he was pining over one dark haired boy with blue eyes he couldn’t even escape in his dreams.  He quickly shook the thought out of his head, feeling guilty for once again dragging this shit with him and serving it up to Milo to eat, without complaint.  He forced a smile as he looked back at Milo.  “Look, I’m sorry.  I’ll be ok.  Let’s just have fun, alright?”_

_“Choice is yours,” Milo responded as he hooked Ian’s arm tighter._

_The host led the group to their table and handed them menus.  “Your waiter will be right with you,” the blonde girl said with the cheesiest smile.  Everyone picked up their menus, Ian opting to pick up his face – yet again.  Being there was a chore, but it would prove to be far less laborious than what presented itself at their table.  Ian looked up and he was certain his heart stopped for more than a few seconds.  Maybe he was going crazy and their waiter merely looked like him._

_“Mickey!” Sanai said way too enthusiastically.  “You work here?!”  Mickey didn’t respond for looking too long and too hard, not at Ian, but at Milo’s arm that hooked around the red head’s like life would end if he let go.  He zoned out too long for it to not be noticeable.  Ian shifted uncomfortably in his chair and wiggled his arm loose from Milo’s grip.  He would have seen the scowl on his face, if it weren’t for his eyes ignoring his inner voice telling himself to “not look at Mickey” which he did without hesitation.  If it wasn’t for Jessica loudly clearing her throat, Ian and Mickey would have looked at each other for days.  Mickey snapped out of his stupor, and looked down at Sanai._

_“I’m sorry.  I, uh,” Mickey stopped to clear his own throat, his mouth suddenly dry.  “Yeah, I work here.  Been workin here for the past five weeks.”_

_“Five weeks?  How did I not know?” Ian blurted out before he could think.  His foot was made to rest in his mouth it seemed.  Ian wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere.  Mickey looked at the younger boy and cocked a brow._

_“Yeah, five weeks Gallagher.  Had to earn money somehow.  This is how I was able to pay for my ticket back home to Chicago.”_

_“Really now?  Going home?”_

_“Yeah, really.  I’m leavin Sunday morning.  You would’ve uh, known these things sooner, but you’ve been M.I.A. lately.”  Mickey said the last sentence, his voice forced to a low, husky tone while glaring daggers into Milo, who stared back just as hard.  Sanai instantly picked up on the tension._

_“Ok!  Can we order?!” she said louder than necessary.  Mickey slowly tore his eyes away from Milo before quickly glancing at Ian whose face was now as red as his hair.  He was fiddling with the strings on his hoodie while concentrating too hard on the table, and Mickey almost flinched when Milo grabbed one of Ian’s hands to calm his obvious nervousness._

_Mickey took everyone’s orders, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t take everything in him to not spit in Milo’s food.  It was stupid and he called himself every faggot, fairy and homo in the gay book of insults for even being jealous.  He would jack off to girl on girl porn later that night after he was certain Ian wouldn’t be sleeping in their room.  He did this just to keep from jacking off to the angering, but disturbingly arousing mental picture of Ian probably pounding mercilessly into Milo.  It pissed him off but made him horny at the same time, because he knew what his roommate was working with.  And maybe Mickey wished it was him – maybe._

_Ian barely touched his food in the restaurant.  All he wanted to do was get shitfaced, which he did later that night at the Half Pint.  He just wishes he would have gone for the usual Jack instead of tequila.  It always made him emotional – and horny.  It took everything in Ian to not think about Mickey as he pounded into Milo relentlessly that night, very pissed, too horny and drunk off his ass to give a fuck about who it was beneath him.  And he would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine it being Mickey bent over with his face buried in the pillow while begging for more._

Ian quickly jumped out of Milo’s bed, not caring if he woke him, and caring less if he saw how fast he was just trying to get the fuck out.  The brunette of course sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his boring eyes before frowning at a rather frantic Ian.

“Let me guess.  You’re leaving.”  Ian turned around and looked at Milo, this time not bothering to show any guilt.  He would cut right to the chase – the marrow really, surpassing flesh.  He had to make this hurt to the bone so Milo could feel it.

“This was a mistake.  It can’t happen again,” Ian said bluntly.

“It won’t,” Milo began as he brought his legs to his chest.  “So don’t bother running back when _Mickey_ fucks your head up again.  I’m done playing shrink.”  Ian didn’t respond.  He deserved every word.  Instead, he put his shoes on and grabbed his jacket before walking out without saying goodbye.  He was so fucked up, but he was just so done with it all. 

For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t wait to get back to Chicago.

***

Back in the dorm, Mickey was smoking a cigarette out of the window.  It was a lonely smoke given Ian wasn’t there, and Mickey was beginning to feel really fucking weak for even feeling that way.  He squinted his eyes from the piercing winter sunlight before taking one last pull, flicking the butt out of the window down to the pavement.  Last night’s events played over and over in his head like an endless flick, and all Mickey wanted to do was fast forward to the end credits already.  It was all so pathetic.  Yet, he couldn’t get the image of the red head out of his mind, the possessive way Milo was acting over him.  And just like that, Mickey felt himself wanting to steal what obviously wasn’t his, and this was no Ken Doll.  For the first time in a long time, he actually wanted to get back to Chicago.  He felt himself ~~needing~~ wanting to resort to what he did best.

But he had to fight it off in this case.

 

_“Why you always stealing from your sister?”_

_Mickey looked up at his Uncle Vladimir, wide-eyed and unapologetic.  He darted his eyes over to his sister who was clinging tightly to their mother’s dress, her eyes still wet with tears.  The Ken Doll was still in the floor._

_“Ti si lopov,” Vladimir said in Serbian.  “That makes you a thief and you shouldn’t take what isn’t yours.”_

_“Everyone steals,” a seven year old Mickey said so matter of fact.  His Uncle was somewhat taken aback by such a comment from such a young boy._

_“But you know it’s wrong, yes?”_

_Mickey didn’t answer right away.  He simply dropped his head, thinking to himself for a moment.  He then turned his blue eyes back up to his Uncle.  “Ali ja sam lopov.”  Vladimir didn’t know if he was more caught off guard by how good his young nephew’s Serbian was or more by what he said.  His mother made her way over to Vladimir as Mickey pranced off, unfazed._

_“What did he say Vlad?” she asked her brother-in-law._

_“But I am a thief.”_


	11. Thief - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Link my door tonight_   
> _I am sold._
> 
> _And we late, nocturnal_   
> _Speculate what we feel,_
> 
> _You said it was a flash of green_   
> _But you hadn't known._
> 
> \- James Blake, "I Am Sold"

“How was the flight?”  Ian let out a long breath before turning to Lip to answer. 

“It was alright,” Ian replied as he grabbed his suitcase.  “Just glad to be home.”  Lip looked almost shocked at his younger brother’s last words, squinting his eyes as he studied the expression on his freckled face.

“You – glad to be home?”

“Yeah, why?”  They exited the airport, the cold Chicago air a lot more harsh than what Ian was starting to grow accustomed to in New York.  He adjusted his scarf as he shot one of his ‘not in the mood’ glances at his brother.

“C’mon Ian,” Lip began as he grabbed two cigarettes out of his pack of Marlboro’s, handing Ian one.  “I know you.  You were glad when you got outta here, now you’re glad to be back?  What did it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian responded through a cloud of smoke.

“Which means you do.”  Lip was always such a smart ass.  Ian hated it sometimes, because 99.99% of the time, the fucker was right. 

“Can we talk about this later?” Ian asked, exasperated.  Lip nodded his _‘ok, but I’m still gonna dig’_ nod.  He didn’t need him to tell him what the deal was.  Lip smirked through a long pull on his cigarette, a name dancing in his mind.  _Mickey Milkovich._

“I told you not to go there,” Lip said to Ian as they got in his car.  The red head glared at him, his face serious.  He knew Lip was referring to Mickey, and although it was none of his fucking business, Ian knew he hadn’t gone there, not technically.  But he didn’t have to explain that to anyone, not even Lip.

“Shut up, will you?”  Ian got in the car and stared straight ahead.

“You fucked him didn’t you?” Lip said as smug as possible.  Ian’s face got hot as he turned and faced his older brother.

“That’s none of your fucking business Lip, but if you must know,” Ian stopped and turned away so he was looking straight ahead again.  He dropped his head and began to fiddle with the seatbelt strap.  “No, we didn’t.”

“But you almost did.”  Ian didn’t respond.  He simply took out his iPad and plugged in his earphones, preparing to listen to the music at a decibel level that was sure to make him deaf.  _Fuck Lip.  Fuck all this outside noise._   “I take that as a yes,” Lip said as he started the car.  Ian didn’t hear him as the music was already blaring in his ears, the volume obnoxious to his eardrums.  They rode in silence the rest of the way home.

When they arrived, Ian noticed Lip was acting _awkward_.  Maybe he was sorry for digging?  Lip looked at Ian before giving him the most self-righteous smile.  Guess not.  “You know I’m right,” he said to Ian as they walked through the front gate.  Ian rolled his eyes and responded by giving him the finger.  Sometimes it was all you could do with the prick.  But then Lip began acting, Ian wasn’t sure; antsy? 

Once they walked through the front door, Ian was immediately attacked by Carl and Debbie, each gripping one of his long arms.

“Ian!” Debbie squealed.  She had maneuvered to where she was now squeezing Ian around his waist, nearly knocking the wind out of him.  Carl was all over Debbie now, as he too hugged Ian around his waist.

“Any tighter you two and I’ll suffocate,” Ian said as he playfully gasped for breath.

“We didn’t know if you were coming home,” Debbie said looking up at him through her long lashes. 

“Why would you think that Debs?”

“You skipped Thanksgiving,” Carl chimed in.  Ian looked down at Carl who had a slight sadness in his eyes.  He felt guilty, and selfish.  If for nothing or no one else, he should have come home for his younger siblings.  He ruffled Carl’s hair as he smiled down at him.

“I know buddy.  It won’t happen again, and I would never miss Christmas with you guys.”  Carl grinned wide, exposing his braces.

“I got nunchucks!” Carl beamed.  Oh God.  Ian suddenly pictured Carl knocking out his teeth or someone else’s with the weapon.  Fiona walked into the living room holding Liam who was bursting at the seams at the sight of Ian.

“Who the hell bought him nunchucks?” Ian asked Fiona as he grabbed Liam.

“Hello to you too!” Fiona said as she hugged Ian around his neck. 

“Sorry.  Hey Fi.”  Ian looked back at Carl who was still so proud of what he just told him.  “Seriously Fi, who bought this terror nunchucks?”  Fiona turned around to the culprit who made his way into the living room holding two coffee mugs.

“Ugh, Jimmy got them,” she said as she gave him her death stare.

“Hey man!” Jimmy greeted Ian as he walked up to them.  He handed Fiona one of the mugs.  “Yes, I got them.  He’s a champ.  He’ll be fine.”

“Say that when someone is missing a tooth or has a black eye,” Fiona responded as she sipped the coffee.  “Decaf, right?”

“Yes sweetheart,” Jimmy said to her as he kissed her on the cheek.

“Since when do you drink decaf Fi?” Ian asked.

“Since I started drinking for two,” she said as rubbed her stomach and grinned.

“Oh wow!  Congrats!” Ian nearly shouted.  “How far along?”

“Eight weeks.”

“Why didn’t you call and tell me?”  Ian knitted his brows as he glared at his sister.  He turned and looked at Lip who was propped against the stairs.  Maybe this is why he was acting funny.

“Wanted to tell you in person Ian.  You know how I operate.”

“I’m gonna be an uncle,” Ian smiled as he tickled Liam.  As he lowered the little guy to the floor, he nearly had the wind knocked out of him again as two boney arms grabbed him around his neck.  Hair flew into his mouth as he gasped out of surprise.

“Ian!” Mandy said excitedly into his neck.  She pulled back and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Mandy?  What are you doing here?”  Ian looked over at Lip, who was now nervously scratching his head.

“What?  Lip didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Ian asked as he glared at his brother.  Mandy looked over at Lip, adding a second set of eyes staring holes into him.

“Nice,” she said before turning back to Ian.  She rolled her eyes before smiling a smile that looked too close to Mickey’s.  Ian’s stomach flipped as he took note of her features.  “We’re uh, sorta dating now.”

“Dating?  Since when?” 

“It pretty much started after Thanksgiving.  We talked a lot through Skype, and Lip visited me two weekends after.  Said he couldn’t wait until winter break.”  She playfully twirled her hair as she looked back at Lip who was blushing.  Fucking _blushing._ “He told me to take the train to the north side today so we could spend the holidays together.”

“Well good for you two,” Ian responded a little too cynically.  This was all happening so fast.  He could’ve sworn Lip was still fucking around with the girl around the corner, Karen Jackson, just as of last month.  Ian decided not question it, because Lip was Lip.  “You guys got any plans?”

“Ugly holiday sweater party on Christmas Eve tomorrow night.  Always wanted to go to one,” she beamed.

“Wonderful,” Ian said as he continued to stare Lip down.

“You _are_ coming.  No excuses.”

“Sure thing.”  Ian didn’t even try to argue with Mandy, although his response was far from enthusiastic.  But he couldn’t help but wonder if the other Milkovich sibling would rear his not-so-ugly head.  He got nervous at the thought, which Lip immediately picked up on.

“Well I’m headed to the Supermarket with Fiona to get groceries for Christmas breakfast.”  Mandy walked over to Lip, kissing him on the lips.  “See you later babe?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lip said as he pushed her bangs out of her eyes.  Ian couldn’t believe this.  Lip made his way over to Ian as Mandy and Fiona walked out of the house.  He patted his younger brother on the back.

“No worries kid.  Mickey isn’t even back in Chicago yet.”

“I know,” Ian started as he gathered his coat and scarf.  “He gets in tomorrow.”

“Know a bit much about his schedule, don’t you?”

“You know what?  Fuck you Lip.  I can’t believe you’re dating Mandy.”

“And you’re mad because why?  I’m with her?  Or, wait wait…because her presence is a mere threat you’ll have to deal with her brother during break?  I say the latter because Mandy’s got tits.”

“I’m not mad about anything,” Ian lied.  He was furious.  Or maybe it was jealousy?  Perhaps he wished what Lip and Mandy managed to develop would somehow transfer into the fucked up back and forth he and Mickey were tussling with.  Lip wasn’t buying anything his brother was saying.  He could read Ian so well, too well in fact.

“Jesus Ian, you’re his roommate, get over it.  Besides, the guy’s the fucking Grinch apparently and won’t be anywhere near the holiday festivities.  Relax.”  Ian glared at his brother without saying anything.  He quickly put on his coat and scarf as he grabbed his phone and car keys, heading for the front door.

“Ian, where are you going?”

“Ezra’s,” Ian responded as he slammed the door.  The whole way there, all he could do was hope with every fiber in his body that Lip was right about Mickey not being around and he wouldn’t use that .01% chance to be wrong.

***      

Ian played with the miniature scarf protruding from his green sweater.  He could hear Ezra stifling laughs behind him.  He ran his hands down Frosty the Snowman as he stared at the white figure stitched in the middle of the sweater, his button eyes sparkling and his smile wide.  The carrot he had for a nose looked ridiculous, but not as ridiculous as the 3D scarf around the snowman’s neck.  And suddenly Ian was starting to regret agreeing to go to this stupid ugly holiday sweater party Mandy was dragging him, Lip, Fiona and Jimmy to.  For good measure, and also some sort of sanity, Ian dragged Ezra in too.  He wasn’t going to do this shit alone.

“What’s so funny?” Ian questioned as he snapped his head around.  He could already see his best friend laughing at his ridiculous sweater through the mirror before turning. 

“Um, nothing,” Ezra said through another stifled laugh.

“Go ahead, laugh it up.  My sweater is not _that_ ridiculous.”  And it was. 

“Of course it isn’t.  The green goes with your hair, brings out your eyes.”  Ezra was playfully batting his lashes at Ian, doing everything in his power to properly embarrass him.

“Look at you.  Your sweater is – “ Ian stopped as he examined Ezra’s red sweater.  He couldn’t think of any insulting words because the sweater wasn’t that bad.  It merely had the words _Merry Christmas_ on the front.

“It’s awesome,” Ezra offered.

“You’re cheating.  It isn’t even ugly.”

“Exactly why you should never let your sister pick out your clothes.”  Ian rolled his eyes at Ezra’s comment.  He wished he hadn’t let Fiona talk him into picking out his sweater for the party.  He told his sister to take it easy on the ugly scale, but of course she went all out getting the most ridiculous sweater she could find.  Ian only hoped everyone else’s sweaters were just as unsightly.

“Let’s go you two!” Fiona yelled from downstairs.  “We’re gonna be late and I don’t wanna miss the hors d’oeuvres!”  God she was so pregnant.  Ian and Ezra made their way down the stairs.  Mandy and Lip had already left, saying they had to make a detour before heading to the party.  They were all headed to the house of some girl’s cousin Mandy knew from school.  Apparently the cousin was loaded with a huge house and also lived on the north side of Chicago.  Ian was relieved when he saw Fiona and Jimmy’s sweaters.  Fiona was wearing a cream sweater with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on it, his nose a protruding ball from the center of her sweater.  Jimmy had on a burgundy sweater with a huge Santa Clause on it, his hat also protruding from the sweater.  It was obvious Fiona picked them all.

“I’m guessing you picked out Jimmy’s sweater too,” Ian said through a laugh.

“You know it,” Fiona responded.  She turned and looked at Ezra.  “Looks like you’re the odd man out.”  Ian looked at his best friend who simply shrugged his shoulders.  He was probably glad to be the odd man out.

***

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this shit,” he huffed as he shoved another stuffed puff pastry thing into his mouth.  He licked his fingers clean, not trying to be subtle about it.  He had no clue what he was eating, but hey, the food was decent and free, the bar open and if he hurried, perhaps he could get drunk before the shitty Christmas music made him toss his cookies.  If he heard another note from Michael Bubble…Burble…Bumble, or whatever the fuck his name was, he was certain he’d add a nice coating of barf to the Christmas décor. 

“You’re a mean one,” Mandy spat at Mickey.  “Stop being a fucking Grinch.”  She was already pissed he complained the whole way there, while hurling insults at her and Lip’s sweaters.  She told her brother he could just stay home and patiently await a drunken Terry later that night, or he could come and get free food and booze.  He didn’t even have to weigh his options.  And of course he refused to wear an ugly sweater, choosing to wear a black, long-sleeved V-neck sweater instead.  He was ready to bite the head off of whoever brought it to his attention, but at least he looked decent.  Handsome in fact.  He cleaned up nicely. 

While the lure was free food and the promise to get drunk, the truth behind Mandy dragging Mickey out with her and Lip was sad really.  The holiday in their household was always so lonely, angry and cold, Terry and the older Milkovich brothers always out on runs.  It would always end up being just Mandy and Mickey, the two of them scrounging up what food there was in the house while watching _A Christmas Story_ marathons.  Terry would eventually stumble in the house in the middle of the night, drunk and high off his ass, their older brothers nowhere to be found because they were all smart enough to pass out at friends’ houses to avoid their father.  Mickey was always on the receiving end of Terry’s drunken rage, his gift a fresh black eye or busted lip.  Christmas never existed at the Milkovich house.  There was never a tree, no decorations, no gifts, no love – at least not since their mom died.  She did what she could while she was alive.

“Whatever,” Mickey said through a mouth full of food.  “You and your new boyfriend here are the ones looking like idiots with everyone else.  Fuck Christmas.”  He continued to chew his food, smacking loudly as he grabbed handfuls more off of the hors d’oeuvres platters.

“You’re such a fucking pig Mickey!”  Mandy yelled. 

“Takes one to know one.  I’m pretty sure Lip here has never seen _you_ eat, like _really_ eat.”

“Yo what’s your problem dude?” Lip chimed in.  Mickey glared at Lip.  Did he really have the audacity to ask him what _his_ problem was?  How laughable.  He was the one fucking his sister.  His right hand twitched with eagerness, each tattooed letter ready to send a painful message.  His knuckles practically ached to feel teeth and bone crushing beneath them, the blood certain to satiate their dry spell.  It had been awhile and if Lip was dumb enough to push him to the edge, Mickey would gladly jump off of it, landing right on his face.  He could care less if he was Mandy’s ~~fuck buddy~~ boyfriend. 

“Don’t have one unless you wanna make one.”  Mickey got closer to Lip, who surprisingly didn’t back down.  He simply squared his shoulders, the muscles in his jaw tightening.  Mickey couldn’t help but respect Lip’s guts.  He obviously had chutzpah.  When Lip didn’t respond, Mickey looked at Mandy who had her death glare on her face.  He knew if he hit him, she would cut his balls off in the middle of the night, so he thought better of it.  He looked back at Lip and devilishly smiled off the tension.  “You know what?  No problem here,” Mickey started as he turned back to the food table.  “At least for now.”  

Mandy practically hissed as she grabbed Lip by the arm and led him towards the bar, not bothering to ask her brother if he wanted to come get a drink.  She would leave him in the company of his own attitude.  Mickey simply shrugged his shoulders as his sister and Lip stomped away.  There was no way he wanted to be next to two people wearing sweaters with Christmas lights made of fabric sewn all over them anyway.  They looked ridiculous.  This party was ridiculous, and suddenly all Mickey wanted to do was disappear and end up at the Alibi.  He could catch the L to the south side in no time.  He finished off his food, figuring he should start drinking before the main course came out.  He could use a few shots of his old friend Jack Daniels right now.  He wiped his hands on his jeans, and smirked when he saw Mandy roll her eyes at him.  Mickey knew she wanted him nowhere near her right now, but he wanted to fuck with her. 

But Mickey’s mind got it first.  One fast, hard thrust and he was fucked in the head.

His feet grew heavy and he stopped halfway to the bar when he saw Mandy’s face light up as she ran and threw her arms around the one person he was certain he wouldn’t see.  He inwardly laughed at himself as he looked at Lip and thought to himself, _“Of fucking course.”_   He never thought to ask Mandy if anyone else they knew was going to be at this party.  Where there’s one Gallagher, there’s bound to be at least one more, and it looked like it may have been four more.  But only one in particular had Mickey’s attention.  The green in his sweater made his red hair that much more prevalent, the ugly sweater he was wearing not so ridiculous on him as it was on everyone else.  _Ian fucking Gallagher._  

He decided to just ignore everyone and slip through the crowd to the opposite end of the bar.  But Mickey was never good at being inconspicuous.  He thought he managed to get by without notice while they all greeted each other, but he felt Ian’s eyes on him without even having to look, his frame like a magnet to his roommate’s  senses.  Mickey could feel the pull already.  He ordered two shots of Jack, downing them both instantly as he kept his back turned toward the direction they were all standing.  He was fine and he would’ve remained fine if Lip didn’t have the bright idea to introduce Fiona, Jimmy and Ezra to Ian’s _“awesome roommate.”_ Mickey almost sprayed his third shot of Jack Daniels out of his mouth in Lip’s face when he turned around to be greeted by three eager faces.  _Three._   Ian’s face was anything but.  Mickey made sure to take a mental note of the smug look on Lip’s face.  He was smart, Mickey knew this, and it all felt like a set up.

“Mickey!” Lip beamed as stood next to him.  “This is my big sister Fiona, her soon to be husband Jimmy, Ian’s best friend Ezra, and –“ Lip cut himself off as he zoned in on his younger brother.  His face said it all.  “Well you know your own roommate.  Everybody, this is Mickey Milkovich; Mandy’s big brother and _Ian’s_ roommate at NYU.”  Fiona was the first to greet Mickey.

“Hey Mickey!  Nice to meet the person sharing a closed quarters with my little brother here.”  She walked up to him, and Mickey extended his hand to shake hers, only for her to swat it out the way and pull him in a hug.  He quivered at the close contact, something he wasn’t used to from other people besides Mandy.  “Gallaghers do hugs,” she said as she pulled away smiling.  She looked nothing like Ian, but was beautiful nonetheless with dark brown, wavy hair and big eyes to match. 

“Hey man!” Jimmy greeted next.  He actually shook Mickey’s hand.  He spoke louder and more cheerful than necessary and struck Mickey as a trust fund baby.  “So, uh, Ian get you to do military drills yet?  You know he used to be so gung ho for that stuff.”  Mickey looked at Ian, who wasn’t looking at him.  Instead, he was standing awkwardly, kind of facing away. 

“No,” Mickey answered plainly.  Ezra was the last to come up and greet Mickey.  He was a little taller, not by much, and had curly brown hair and the lightest hazel eyes.  He smiled as he approached him, his deep dimples showing when he did.  He was… _cute._

“So you’re the infamous Michael Milkovich,” Ezra said as he walked up to Mickey.  He extended his hand, but drew it back a little when he noticed the scowl on Mickey’s face.  Mandy quickly shot her brother a menacing look, and he reluctantly extended his hand to quickly shake Ezra’s. 

“It’s Mickey.  No one calls me Michael,” he said to Ezra sternly.  The look on Ezra’s face immediately let Mickey know he was a sassy little shit.  Another mental note taken.  He slightly rolled his hazel eyes with a smirk on his face, and looked back at Ian.  Mickey began to wonder just how much his roommate talked about him to his best friend.

“Fair enough,” Ezra said as he walked back to Ian. 

Everyone’s attention then turned back to the red head who was far too quiet for comfort.  It’s like they were expecting him to speak to Mickey, given he was his roommate.  To kill the suspicion and digging looks, Ian reluctantly opened his mouth to speak.  “Hey Mick.”  The greeting was dry, and Mickey wanted to slap himself for feeling dejected. 

“Hey.”  Mickey offered not one word more.

The tension was too thick.  And just like that they were back in their room on campus, walking around elephants and pacing through air too dense to breathe.  Lip was the only one who instantly picked up on it all, Ezra following not too far behind with his own suspicions.  Mandy, Fiona and Jimmy quickly lost interest, turning their attention to the hors d’oeuvres.  As they walked over to the tables, the four boys stood in a square formation.

“Tension’s a bit thick, don’t you think?” Lip rhetorically asked, now sipping his own Jack Daniels.  Mickey wasn’t having any of this bullshit, and he certainly wasn’t going to allow Lip to rope him into any of it.  He scoffed and stormed off, finding the nearest exit.  He needed to smoke, and not a cigarette.

“Nice one Lip,” Ian said to his brother annoyed.

“You’re the one acting like a scorned ex-boyfriend.”

“Fuck off.  He was never my boyfriend.”

“If you say so,” Lip said into his glass.  Ian was so done with all of this. 

“C’mon Ez.”  Ian motioned for his best friend to follow him.  They left Lip perched against the bar, obviously too pleased with himself.  He was so arrogant sometimes. 

Ian and Ezra would spend the rest of the party away from Lip, Mandy, Jimmy and Fiona.  Mickey spent the rest of the party smoking weed behind the house, occasionally slipping past the crowd to the bar to get another drink before heading back out.  And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the magnetic pull of Ian’s eyes each time he went back inside.  It almost kept him planted in one spot, not wanting to move, the only thing causing him to leave being the horrible Christmas music.  The only time everyone came back together was at midnight when it was officially Christmas to exchange gifts.  They all bought one or two select gifts to exchange. 

Ezra had gotten Ian Beats by Dre Headphones, and Ian had gotten Ezra the last seven seasons of Supernatural on Blu Ray, a lucky last minute find.  Lip had gotten Mandy a charm bracelet, and Mandy had gotten Lip some new games not even on the shelves yet for his PS3, courtesy of her older brother Nicky’s “inside” connection at Game Stop.  She handed Mickey a box, a wicked grin stretching across her face.  He opened the box and felt his face heat up at the sight.  It was a fucking Ken Doll, but before he could get pissed, beneath the doll box was a neatly folded Burberry scarf.  Ok, so he could get past the inside joke and when Lip sarcastically inquired about the doll Mickey shot him a look so harsh, he backed down.  Mickey would never admit it to anyone, but he had a thing for scarves, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how Mandy could afford a Burberry one.  He wouldn’t ask.  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to Mandy.  She opened it, her eyes almost bulging out of her head at the sight.  Mickey had gotten her two tickets to see Santigold in concert with the money he had left over from working after buying his plane ticket home.  He knew how much she loved her, and he knew he struck gold when he discovered she would be performing in Chicago next month.  He tried not to blush when she threw her arms around his neck – he tried even harder when he noticed Ian crack the slightest smile at him.

So the night didn’t end too badly, that is until Mandy turned to Mickey and said to him what he did not want to hear.  “We’re all staying at the Gallagher house tonight.  Fiona and Jimmy are cooking us Christmas breakfast.”  Mickey groaned inwardly. 

He wasn’t drunk enough for this.

***

He rubbed his eyes as he jolted out of his sleep.  His body was covered in sweat and it took him too long to remember he wasn’t home – the surroundings weren’t his.  The dreams were still bad, but at least they weren’t lasting as long.  Mickey actually admitted to himself that the sessions back at school were helping.  He sat up in the pull out couch he was sleeping on and adjusted his eyes to the dark.  He was still in the Gallagher house.  Mickey was sleeping in their fully finished and furnished basement, complete with a flat screen TV mounted on the wall.  There was actually a kitchen and bathroom down there too, along with a bar and pool table.  It was far too nice for a basement.   

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and nearly jumped out of it when he noticed a ghostly figure slowly maneuvering down the steps.  They were carpeted, so he couldn’t hear the person or _thing_ coming down.  Mickey stood, ready to stand his ground if he had to, his hands forming into tight fists, but they slowly unfolded when the silhouette came more into focus.

“The fuck are you doing down here?”  Ian was now fully visible and stopped on the other side of the bed.  He turned on a small lamp that sat on the table next to the couch, the dim light casting a low glow on his face.  His eyes were red, and he fiddled nervously with the bottom of his tank top.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you.  I was in the kitchen getting water and I heard you yell.  Habit to check on you I guess.”  Mickey didn’t respond; he simply rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip.  He was still slightly pissed about what happened upstairs earlier.  Ian quickly picked up on the vibes and turned to leave.  “Look, I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” 

Mickey never speaks before he thinks.  For him that could be dangerous, because unfiltered words for him meant the truth.  The truth was something he tried his best to keep locked away, hidden beneath his many layers.  He never came undone, never.  But he was beginning to hate Ian for the effect he had on him, the years of perfecting being a closed book slowly losing the battle to the red head.  Before he could stop himself, he blurted out the last thing he wanted to say.  “You don’t have to.”  _His stupid mouth._ Ian turned around, a small smile forming on his lips.  Mickey was steeled on the outside, but like jell-o on the inside.  He was silently screaming.  The red head made his way back to the pull out couch, and sat at the farthest end of the bed, making sure he wasn’t at all close to Mickey.

“Thanks,” he said lowly.  “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Whatever,” Mickey said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible as he sat back down.

“And I’m sorry about earlier.”

 

_“Me and Jimmy are headed to guest bedroom at the end of the hall on the second level.  I’m so tired,” Fiona said to the rest of the gang as she made her way up the stairs, Jimmy close behind her.  “You can take the guest bedroom next to Ian’s on the third level,” she said to Ezra before disappearing._

_They had all just gotten back from the party, Lip and Mandy more than a little drunk, and Ezra just on the verge.  Ian hadn’t drank that much and Mickey was simply feeling the buzz from smoking the weed earlier.  He wished he was drunk because he didn’t want to be there at all, which was so evident from the frown he had painted on his face.  And where the fuck was he going to sleep?  He knew Mandy would be with Lip in his room, but Fiona hadn’t given him anywhere._

_“And where am I supposed to sleep?” Mickey asked Lip, not trying to hide his annoyance.  He and Mandy were already sloppily feeling each other up.  He rolled his eyes at the sight._

_“Hey, uh, how ‘bout in Ian’s bed,” Lip laughed._

_“The fuck did you just say to me?”  Mickey balled his fists and walked slowly towards Lip.  Before he could get any closer, Ian placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him._

_“Ignore him, he’s drunk and more of an asshole when he is,” Ian justified.  Mickey shrugged Ian’s hand off of his shoulder._

_“Do not touch me right now,” Mickey huffed._

_“What’s your problem Mick?”  Ian knitted his eyebrows and studied his roommate’s face._

_“Isn’t it obvious Ian my brother?  He wants to fuck you but is too scared to do anything about it,” Lip said mockingly.  Mickey’s nostrils flared and before he knew it, he was charging towards Lip.  The fucker had it coming for a long time now.  His fist connected with Lip’s nose, then reconnected with his jaw.  He fell to the floor, too drunk to fight back.  Mickey was about to pounce on him some more, but he felt the wind get knocked out of him.  Ian had landed a quick jab to his throat.  Jesus, not only was the hit hard, but effective.  Mickey stumbled backwards, landing on the loveseat.  He began to cough violently as he held his throat._

_“What the fuck Gallagher!” Mickey yelled between gasping for air._

_“I told you he was drunk!  Ignore him!” Ian yelled.  His face was turning red.  Ezra came over and pulled him away from Mickey.  Ian didn’t realize he was walking closer to Mickey he was so angry.  The thing is, his anger was misplaced, because as wrong as Mickey was for hitting Lip, his brother deserved it, and he was really pissed at Lip for opening his smart ass mouth.  Ian suddenly felt guilty for hitting Mickey because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt him.  All he wanted to do was touch him.  “Shit I’m sorry Mick,” Ian pleaded._

_“Fucking save it.”  Mickey stood up still holding his throat.  Fiona must have heard the commotion because she had made her way to the middle of the stairs._

_“What’s all the commotion about?” she asked in her serious motherly tone.  She had a lot of practice being the oldest of six siblings.  She was already in her robe with her hands planted firmly on her hips._

_“Nothing,” Ian quickly covered.  “Just a misunderstanding.”_

_“Misunderstanding?” Fiona asked suspicious.  She looked at Lip who was now standing with Mandy holding him by his waist.  He had his hand cupped over his nose.  “Then why is Lip’s nose bleeding?”_

_“It’s nothing Fi,” Lip chimed in._

_“Sure it is.  Well, whatever the case, sort it out and go to bed.  You’ll wake Liam, Carl and Debbie.”  She shot everyone a glance and went back upstairs.  Ian turned back to Mickey who looked like he was on the verge of bolting._

_“If you want, you can sleep downstairs.  It’s fully finished with a pull out couch.”  Mickey quickly glanced at Ian._

_“Thanks,” he muttered.  He grabbed his jacket and stormed downstairs._

“No need to apologize,” Mickey said as he maneuvered himself back onto the bed.  He lined his back with the back of the couch.  “I’d probably kick someone’s ass too if they hit any one of my siblings, even if they were the one in the wrong.”

“Yeah, but I overreacted,” Ian offered.  Mickey looked over at Ian who was hunched over.  He could tell he was beating himself up over it.

“Hey man, that’s what families do.  They defend each other regardless.  It’s called loyalty, ya know.  At the end of the day, it’s not about right or wrong when it comes to your family, it’s about principle.”  Ian turned and looked at Mickey.  He knew the guy was a genius, but he sometimes caught Ian off guard with how introspective he was.  He felt the tension in his body slowly relinquishing and slid back on the bed just a little further until he was resting on the opposite arm of the couch.

“So you aren’t mad?  Not gonna hold a grudge?”  Mickey chuckled to himself.  Ian was practically pleading.  He definitely could hold a grudge like nobody’s business, but he held them over important shit, like you owe him money or you’re fucking his little sister.  So Lip wasn’t safe.  And while Mickey was mad earlier at Ian for hitting him, he’d taken far worse beatings from his own father, and truth be told, he couldn’t stay mad at his roommate.  Ian had that effect on him, and as much as Mickey hated it, he accepted it.

“Nah man,” Mickey said as he cracked a small smile.  “You’re good.”  Ian smiled back and it drove Mickey insane.  He shifted uncomfortably from his rising body temperature.  _Take take take._ He quickly looked away from Ian and began biting nervously on his bottom lip.  He felt the bed dip, and when he turned back towards Ian, he was lying back on the bed with his feet still planted on the carpet, his green eyes focused on the ceiling.  His tank top rose slightly, exposing just enough skin for Mickey to notice that “V” formation.  He was about to lick his bottom lip, but noticed a sadness in Ian’s eyes.  He didn’t have to ask what was wrong because the he began to talk.

“I miss her all the time,” Ian said suddenly.

“Who?” Mickey asked slightly confused.

“Monica.”  Ian had only talked about his mother once to Mickey, and it didn’t extend beyond her bipolar disorder and suicide attempt.

“Where is she?”

“Some fancy mental health facility out in California.  They said they are going to help her get “better.”  Ian threw up his hands, making quotation motions with his fingers as he said _better._   “Her shrink recommended the place to Frank, and I’m suspicious she did because the place costs a fortune and she gets commission from referrals.  There are plenty good ones in Chicago.” 

“It’s all about money, not the patient,” Mickey added.

“Yeah,” Ian said lowly.  “I just wish she wasn’t so far you know, and we aren’t allowed to visit her until further notice.  I just wish I could see her.”

“I know the feeling,” Mickey responded. 

“Shit, I’m sorry Mick.”  Ian propped himself up on his elbows and swung one of his long legs onto the bed as he looked up at Mickey.  He was such an ass.  At least Monica was _alive_ and he could eventually see her.  With Mickey, he would never be able to see his mom again, be able to talk to her, feel her embrace.  Mickey noticed the guilt on Ian’s face, but the last thing he needed was him feeling bad because his mom was dead.

“Ay, look, don’t be sorry.  It’s ok to miss your mom.”  Ian dropped his head, and before he could gather himself, a tear escaped one of his eyes.  Ian quickly wiped his eye, his face turning slightly red from embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said as he sniffled.  Last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Mickey.  He did enough of that in his room before heading downstairs, Monica’s residual energy more penetrating to him than it probably was to anyone else.

“Stop apologizing all the time.”

“Yeah ok.  It’s just Monica you know – “ Ian stopped for a few seconds to turn his gaze back to Mickey, his eyes seeming to glimmer in the low light.  “She’s a beautiful mess.”  And before Mickey could swallow the words, they fought their way out, his feelings protesting everything his mind tried to fight against.

“So are you.”  _Fuck._ Ian’s eyes widened at what Mickey said, and while anyone being referred to as a mess would be offensive, he knew Mickey didn’t mean it in that way, beautiful being the main focus.  He cracked a small smile, his eyes never leaving Mickey’s.  And the older boy wasn’t much different, also a muddle of fucked up circumstances, but magnificent nonetheless. 

Mickey found his impulses beginning to take over.  Either he couldn’t fight them any longer, or he didn’t want to, but before he could stop himself, he was up on his knees, making his way over to Ian who quickly got the hint and brought his other leg up on the bed.  He didn’t know if it was the flash of green in Ian’s eyes or the lateness of the hour, but the younger boy was like a _magnet_.  The pull couldn’t be fought, and Mickey slowly straddled Ian, placing his tattooed hands on the bed on the sides of his hips.  He leaned forward, Ian meeting him halfway as he propped himself up a little higher until their lips were less than an inch apart.  Instead of kissing right away, Ian darted his eyes seductively down to Mickey’s mouth.  He leaned in closer and slowly ran his tongue across the entire length of the older boy’s bottom lip, causing him to shiver from it.  A moan escaped Mickey’s throat as he closed his eyes, the sensation almost too much.  Ian pulled back a little and took his hand to cup Mickey’s cheek as he ran his thumb across where his tongue had just been.  The older boy’s lips were slightly parted, and as he opened his blue eyes, he parted his lips a little more, taking Ian’s thumb into his mouth, sucking it down to the bottom.  He eyes remained fixed on the red head’s as he did this, causing Ian to instantly get hard.  He could also feel Mickey’s boner pressing through his own boxers.

Mickey slowly worked his mouth back to the tip of Ian’s thumb, making sure the sucking noise he made upon release was extra loud.  At that point, Ian lost it.  He placed his hand behind Mickey’s neck as he crashed their mouths together, this time around more ferocious, so much _needier_ than the last.  They kissed like they wanted to swallow each other whole, and a few times, it felt like they would.  Ian grabbed Mickey by his hips, slightly lifting him up as he forced them to switch positions, the older boy now underneath him.  Their lips managed to never break apart.  Ian moaned into his roommate’s mouth as he felt him press his hips up off of the mattress, rubbing their erections together.  Ian broke their kiss as he lifted up and propped himself on his knees, removing his shirt before helping Mickey to get rid of his own.  The older boy ran his tattooed fingers down Ian’s chest, a question suddenly in his eyes.

“What about Milo?” Mickey asked Ian, not that he really cared.  Right now, Ian was his for the taking and he already made up his mind he was going to do so.  The red head gave him a confused look which quickly turned into one of pure _need._

“I’m not his,” Ian said as he leaned back in towards Mickey, his hand snaking its way into his boxers, finding his hard dick.  “So you’re no thief.” 

And at that point, Mickey lost it.  He pulled Ian by his neck with both hands, crashing their lips back together.  Ian practically ripped off Mickey’s boxers before tearing off his own.  The older boy’s hand instantly found Ian’s fully hard dick, gripping it firmly as he pumped slowly, rubbing his thumb around the head, spreading the pre-cum that had already gathered there.  Ian’s body jerked from the contact.  He moaned as he bit Mickey’s bottom lip.  He tasted blood, but he needed to taste more of him.  Ian broke their kiss and began to make his way down Mickey’s body, licking and sucking everywhere he could.  He caught one of his nipples in his mouth and lightly bit down as he stroked Mickey slowly, squeezing slightly at the base.  The noise that escaped the older boy’s mouth was more than enough motivation.

He finally found his way to Mickey’s dick, licking along the vein that pulsated underneath before placing his lips around his head.  He wasted no time sucking all the way down to the base and Mickey wasted no time gripping his short red hair, guiding him up and down his shaft.  Ian made his way slowly back to the tip, running his tongue along the slit before releasing, making a loud popping noise.  Mickey practically whined.  Ian kissed his way back up Mickey’s body until they were face to face again, Mickey pressing their lips together again.  The taste of Ian’s tongue mixed in with his own flavor was intoxicating.  As he savored the taste, Ian reached over to the nightstand, opening the bottom drawer.  Lip always kept condoms there, and he always kept lube.  He broke their kiss as he brought the white bottle to Mickey’s lips, who popped open the cap using his teeth.  It turned Ian on even more.  Ian squirted a good amount of lube onto his finger, bringing it to Mickey’s entrance.

He was no virgin.  He wasn’t.  In fact, Mickey had slept with plenty of _girls,_ lying to himself that he was fulfilled after each lackluster orgasm.  And what no one knew, is that he had slept with a guy, once, but he refused to bottom for the guy with the no-name face.  He didn’t need to know who he was, just as long as he got off, lying to himself that he once again felt _fulfilled._ He had never wanted to bottom until now.  And it didn’t dawn on Mickey just how _empty_ he was, until he found himself, right here, underneath Ian, who not only filled him in the physical sense, but also in the emotional and more ways than any explanation could lend meaning to.  And with each thrust that Ian gave, Mickey found himself being filled more and more, voids he never knew existed, slowly becoming less empty.

So here they both were, two beautiful messes, in a mess of sheets and limbs and unspoken words as they communicated through kisses and desperate grips as their hands navigated maps of skin, an endless expanse leading them to places unknown.  Mickey was finding his way, because he’d always been lost, stealing what he could along the way.

He realized now that it was him always being stolen from, and Ian began to replace each thing lost that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they have finally come together, Ian and Mickey. I didn't want to drag it out any longer, and quite frankly, I was ready for it too, lol. I'm no smut writer, but I can certainly convey emotion, and if that came across, I am happy! I just hope you all enjoyed it. I actually liked writing these last two chapters (technically one, but two parts) despite how painstakingly long it was. I just didn't want to miss not one detail, as each one was vital in this part. I wrote the end of this chapter mainly to the song "I Am Sold" by James Blake which was so fitting. I also played "Retrograde" and "Our Love Comes Back" (James Blake) in rotation. Please listen!!! I recommend it. ;) Well, I would say I'll have the New Year's chapter up by New Year's, but I would be lying if...
> 
> Ah, who knows, lol. We shall see! Once again, thanks for reading! :)


	12. Kill You Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His so called blood would be the one soon smoldering in the ashes.

_“Molim vas, poštedi me brate!”_

_Please was for pussies and he wasn’t one to spare, not even his own brother – not with the recent discovery._

_“Spare you?  Brother?” Terry laughed.  Evil wrapped itself tightly around his vocal cords, the sound ricocheting off of the cement walls.  Cold sound.  Cold concrete.  Anyone outside of the building would’ve sworn they heard the devil laughing, a sound as cold as ice despite coming from hellfire.  He walked slowly up to Vladmir, his helpless form hanging like a ragdoll from the chains Terry and his cronies had hung him from.  He took out his Zippo lighter and set fire to the tobacco he pulled from behind his ear.  He slowly blew smoke into Vladimir’s swollen face, the gray tendrils wrapping around his head and seeping into his newly opened Glasgow smile.  “Fuck you, you sick bastard.  I’m no longer your brother.”_

_Ash fell from the lit cigarette, landing on Terry’s steel-toe boot.  The burning tobacco hung loosely from his thin lips, pursed in anger, the ember flickering in the poorly lit warehouse.  The fire mimicked the rage bubbling in his gut from the hate he felt towards Vladimir.  He let it burn, now not necessarily sucking on the thing that would soon emulate his brother.  Terry removed the cigarette from his mouth and spit on the ground by Vladimir’s feet.  His so called blood would be the one soon smoldering in the ashes._

~~~

His life to date wasn’t filled with many morning afters; not like this.  There was no hangover from too much alcohol or a pill concoction gone wrong.  There was no waking up from an aching in his temple, a painful reminder that Terry felt fucked with the night before and sleep was simply being unconscious.  There were only fingers twined in his, the same ones that traced each one of his inked letters, a warm body mimicking the outline of his own and the prickling of breath on the back of his neck.  He wanted to stay like this and not move, but eventually, he had to.  It was all a part of the rules, not to get too comfortable – not to get attached.  So he broke them apart and rested on his back with his blue eyes closed tight, his other senses not failing to follow the younger boy as he stealthily made his way back to his room.  He had gotten the hint.  They didn’t speak.  No one was up yet, and if they had time, he knows they would have made the dawn theirs.   But they had to break away, they had to.  The morning wouldn’t be tapered for basking in afterglow and awkward, post-sex conversation. 

No, the morning would only be for pretending at breakfast.

Mickey would be deemed a pig at the kitchen table and make no qualms about it.  His mouth was full of pancakes and too many things he wanted to blurt out because inside he was just so  _full_.  Waking up had never been so easy.  Being touched had never been so easy.  The limbs that wrapped around his bones, each angle filling in his empty spaces had been comfortable – something that screamed at everything he was.   _This isn’t you._ Yet it was.  He wasn’t supposed to feel things like comfort and ease, the solace he felt from the hand that rested on his own making him feel things in his gut that weren’t supposed to be there.  Shit like this came with consequences.  He’s definitely seen it; old memories were burned in the back of his eyelids.  So Mickey stuffed a sausage link on top of the food already in his mouth because everything was all so new and food was at least something he was familiar with.  He was only trying to swallow what happened last night.  The hunger pains in his stomach were also maddening.  It wasn’t until he decided to finally look up from his plate to take a gulp of orange juice that he realized everyone was staring at him.

“Wanna take a breath there?” Fiona said as she dished up the last batch of pancakes from the stovetop.  Mickey wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his face flush with a hint of pink.  “You’re giving Carl here a run for his money.”  Mickey looked across the table at Carl who was eating just as sloppily.  He grinned through a mouth full of sausage when he noticed Mickey staring.    

“Sorry.  I’m fucking starving,” he responded after swallowing the last remnants of food in his mouth.

“We see that.  And language around the youngsters please.” 

“Excuse my French.”  Mickey cracked a small apologetic smile to Fiona.  He wasn’t used to censorship, especially in the Milkovich household where they were encouraged to use obscenities because it  _“showed you weren't a pussy.”_

“Quite an appetite there Mickey,” Lip offered as he walked past the table.  He of course would offer his two cents.  His nose was badly bruised but not broken, and Mickey really wished he would have hit harder to break the bone and possibly his ego.  Lip poured some coffee in his mug as he leaned against the counter next to Ian who had just made the pot. 

“Like I said, I’m starving.”  Mickey’s voice deepened, the aggravation apparent.  He glared at Lip, never letting his eyes land on Ian.  He actually managed to  _not_ look at his roommate during the duration of breakfast.  He felt guilty and worried that Ian had noticed. 

It was so hard to look at him.

 “That’s obvious.”  The smirk on Lip’s face said he knew something.  Ian turned so he was facing his brother and gave him a stare so hard, Lip pulled back, temporarily at least.  But not before giving Ian a knowing look.

“You know what?  I’m gonna excuse myself now and get ready to head out.  Thank you for breakfast Fiona.”  Mickey stood from the table and began to make his way to the basement door.  Mandy grabbed him by his wrist before he could reach for the knob.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.  Her eyes searched Mickey’s, and she wasn’t sure what it was, but something was _different_ in them.

“Nothing,” he lied.  “I’m just gonna get ready so I can head back to the south side where I fucking belong.”

“Belong?  What’s the rush Mickey?  I know there’s nothing spectacular waiting for you at home.”

“Fuck Mandy!” he said in a loud whisper.  “Can I just get outta here without the interrogation?”  Mandy’s face slightly fell from her brother’s obvious bad mood.  Or was it anxiety?

“Fine.  Suit yourself.”  She began to walk back to the kitchen before turning around.  “But we were all gonna hang out today, and I was hoping you’d stick around.” 

“Well I’m not.”

“Will you at least be around for New Year’s?  The Gallaghers are having a little get together here.”  Mickey didn’t respond, not verbally, but inside he was shouting at himself.  Mandy’s eyebrows furrowed as she shook her head in disappointment.  “Fine.  Have fun with dad and his drunken bullshit,” she huffed. 

Mandy disappeared around the bend, leaving Mickey standing with his hand on the doorknob.  He cursed at himself as he contemplated going back into the kitchen, not being able to bring himself to do so.  Saving face was the only thing he cared about.  Saving face from _Ian_ was the only thing he cared about.  He made his way downstairs, now at war with himself because being around someone shouldn’t have been this hard.  And perhaps it had nothing to do with saving a face, but keeping a secret – to remain safe.

~~~

_“But it wasn’t what you think,” Vladimir managed to cough out.  His mouth was bloody and his breathing was labored from the brutal beating he had just gotten._

_“No?” Terry began as he got in his face.  “I catch you pinning down my son, and – “ Terry stopped mid sentence and shook the images out of his head; shook the disbelief.  He couldn’t curve his mouth to form the words to describe what it was he saw.  “Christ!  I can’t even say it!” Terry began as he turned his eyes away from Vladimir.  “And it wasn’t what I think?!”_

_“Terry, please listen to me.  I – “_

_“Shut up!  You sick fucking faggot!  Pedophile!”  His fist connected with Vladimir’s face, the cracking of bone he felt not nearly satisfying enough.  He was out for more than blood and broken bones.  He needed to take a life.  Terry turned around and called out to the two men he had brought with him.  “Sal!  Blake!  Bring me my fucking son.”  The two young men immediately made their way outside the old meat packing plant, retrieving Mickey from the truck.  Terry had told him to wait there until he was told to come inside._

_Past the kill floor and straight to the grinding floor, three stories up.  The building was no longer is use, but there were machines that still worked inside, and Sal, being an ex-employee, still knew how to work everything.  Mickey entered the room and suddenly he was eight years old again, his eyes flooded with more colors than he wanted to witness.  He looked at his uncle, the man he cowered under while being subjected to his vices for all these years, and wasn’t sure if he felt anger or pity.  He looked at him and saw the young man he and his father beat six years ago, warning him against homosexuality.  He suddenly felt like he was going to be sick, but quickly swallowed the pending feeling of vomiting down after catching a glimpse of the rage in Terry’s eyes.  His show of weakness could very well be his doom._

_“Your uncle is gonna pay son,” Terry said as he faced Mickey.  “But before he does, I need you to tell me a few things.”  Mickey looked up at his father, his hands trembling from the menacing look painted in his features.  “He ever stick his dick in you?”  Mickey quickly shook his head no.  He grimaced at the thought, and could only imagine how painful that would have been if he had.  It was uncomfortable and frightening, the image, but his uncle had pretty much done everything else but that.  It was always in the back of Mickey’s mind that he would one day do it, but he never did._

_Something similar to relief washed over Terry’s face, but quickly went back to pure anger.  “And one more thing,” Terry began as he inched closer to Mickey.  He stared the coldest stare, his blue eyes connecting with his son’s.  “Did you fucking like this shit?”  Of course Mickey didn’t.  It was his uncle, and all he ever felt during it all was fear from the threats he always made.  But – he couldn’t tell his father he did think about doing these things with other boys his age.  Not if he wanted to live._

_“No,” Mickey managed to choke out._

_“Good,” Terry responded.  “Just remember son.  Being a faggot is more than a sin – it’s a fucking death wish and your uncle’s gonna die.”_

_~~~_

Back in the kitchen, Lip and Ian were on the verge of an argument.  They weren’t shouting, but whispering loudly in a corner at the far end of the kitchen.  Mandy could tell by the way Ian intermittently threw up his hands that he was upset.  Lip had his arms crossed, ever so often removing a hand to scratch at the side of his temple.  She sat at the table to finish her breakfast, keeping her eyes on the two brothers, but was quickly interrupted when Carl let out a huge belch.  Debbie yelled out how gross he was, and suddenly Mandy was in between two more bickering Gallaghers, the other two continuing their heated discussion across the way.

“You don’t know shit,” Ian spat.  Enough with this shit already.  He was so through with his brother’s smartass antics.  Lip squinted his eyes as he looked at Ian.

“But you weren’t in your room last night.”  Ian paused before offering a rebuttal to Lip’s observation.  He couldn’t deny it because he wasn’t in his room, but he still tried to do so.

“Am I not allowed to get a glass of water from the kitchen?”

“Yes, of course.  Except, you didn’t do _just_ that.”

“I did.”

“Bullshit,” Lip began as he leaned against the wall.  “I came down looking for you.  You weren’t there.”

“Why were you looking for me Lip?” Ian said harshly.

“Had to take a piss and heard you walk downstairs.  You know I hear everything.”

“So you’re following me now?”

“My third eye was twitching.”

“Whatever.  I’m done with this conversation.”  Ian was about to walk off, but was stopped dead in his tracks by what Lip whispered next.

“This time, you did fuck him,” Lip said smugly.  Ian felt his face get hot.

“You know what?” Ian started as he got in Lip’s face.  “If I did or if I didn’t, it’s none of your fucking business.  Why do you care anyway, following me like I’m some kid?”

“I told you before not to go there,” Lip pronounced with the utmost self-assuredness.  “And forgive me for caring about my younger brother.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“And neither do you.” 

“You barely know Mandy.”

“True, but we’re getting to know more about each other.  And Mandy isn’t some closeted homophobe.”  Ian was about to say something back, but the slamming of the front door caused his attention to move towards the living room.  Frank came walking in, stopping at the entrance of the kitchen, looking around at everyone.

“Who the hell are all these people in my house Fiona?” Frank asked rudely.  His hair was disheveled and he smelled strongly of alcohol.  Fiona rolled her eyes, not in the mood to explain anything.

“Merry Christmas to you too Frank,” she scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah, bah humbug and all that mumbo jumbo.  Again, who are these people?” he pushed.

“You’re acting like there are fifty people in here Frank.  And you would know if you’d been home in the last 24 hours.  Where were you?”

“I was taking care of some business, if you must know.  And I didn’t come home to be interrogated by my own daughter.”

“You gambling again?”

“Of course not!” he responded as if he was insulted.  “Anyway, that’s not important.  Please answer my question.”  Fiona let out a long breath before answering. 

“You already know Jimmy and Ezra.  I shouldn’t have to tell you who they are.”  The two had been quietly eating at the table amidst the commotion.  “This is Mandy Milkovich, and her brother Mickey just went downstairs.”  Frank twisted up his face as if he had just eaten a lemon.

“Ah!  Milkovich?!  I know your father!” Frank bellowed.

“Who doesn’t,” Mandy replied. 

“Yeah well, he’s a slimy son-of-a-bitch,” Frank blurted.

“Frank!” Fiona yelled.

“It’s true,” Mandy offered, unfazed.  In fact, she cracked a smile.

“I like her already,” Frank started as he reached for a sausage link, only for Fiona to swat his hand away.  Not missing a beat, he turned his attention back to Mandy.  “And how do you know my kids?”

“Lip,” she responded.  Lip made his way to the table and sat next to Mandy.  Frank flashed a grin as he looked at them.

“Girlfriend?” he asked Lip.

“Something like that,” Lip responded.  Frank clapped his hands together one time.

“Well good for you son!”  Frank then turned his attention towards Ian who was still standing in the far end of the kitchen.  He noticed Frank gawking at him, and braced for the inevitable.  Nothing good ever came out of his mouth when he looked at him like that.  “And where’s your prospect?”  Ian curled his face in annoyance.  He fixed his mouth to respond, but before he could give a half answer, Lip cut across him.

“A lot closer than you think,” Lip chimed in.  And with that, Ian stormed out of the kitchen.  He didn’t bother to finish his food, which Carl ended up stealing anyway.  He’d lost his appetite, and so much more.

********

Mickey wrestled with his thoughts in the middle of _last night_.  It was all still around him.  He was antsy and needed to grip onto something.  The need to pick his poison, alcohol usually, was strong.  But he wanted something stronger than the _need_ and the 151 proof – it had to be of a different group and a higher grade on the substance abuse scale.  Iggy would be getting a phone call from him later to get from his guy who knows a guy that cuts snow pure and icy enough to knock you on your ass.  Mickey could use the sleigh ride.  It had been a long time since he made coke lines on a table.

The bed had been folded back into the couch, the comforter neatly folded and the sheets placed in the hamper by the washer and dryer.  He and Ian were all over them.  He and Ian were all over _him._   He needed to hurry up and get the fuck out and get high, but instead Mickey found himself laying back on the couch, his body sinking into the cushions, his head heavy in the pillows they had slept on.  He crossed his arms at the waist and rested his hands on his hips; right above where Ian left his marks.  Mickey was certain the handprints he observed in the bathroom mirror earlier were still there, beautifully bruised and blushed.  A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.  But the reminiscence was short lived – he couldn’t let himself go only to cling to the very thing he knew he couldn’t have.

Nevertheless, he fixed his eyes on the ceiling, not being able to ignore the images of last night in his head.  They replayed like an old film, the tape stitched across his mind fragile.  Because that’s what last night was, a fragile thing.

 

_A wave of electricity hit him.  And another.  And another.  Mickey was certain he was going to explode any moment from the way Ian was touching him here and there, everywhere, while simultaneously hitting him in that spot he was certain held the meaning of life.  The pleasure was so alive.  There was an adjustment period, but he was where he needed to be now.  His moans were getting louder, a staggered and breathy, “Am I too loud?” managing to escape his mouth, only for Ian to respond into his neck with his own guttural, “These walls are sound proof.”  So Mickey practically screamed obscenities and encouraging words at Ian.  Fuck it.  The walls couldn’t talk._

_The bed was long forgotten as they somehow ended up on the floor.  They didn’t quite remember when it happened, but Mickey was almost positive it was somewhere between him riding Ian on the edge of the bed, the red head thrusting upward so eagerly his ass lifted off the mattress with each movement.  He was almost standing it seemed at one point before losing his balance, sending them crashing to the floor.  But Ian didn’t miss a beat and he never let go.  The sheets decided to follow and were tangled messily underneath them as Mickey balled wads of the fabric in his fists so tight his knuckles were white.  Their bodies were slick with sweat, and Mickey was getting close.  He went to grab his throbbing cock, only for Ian to swat his hand out of the way, grabbing it himself before pumping furiously as his hips continued to snap into the older boy._

_Mickey never came so hard.  His orgasm hit him, practically punching him in the stomach as white ribbons of semen spilled all over the sheets beneath him.  He couldn’t breathe and his body shook as Ian continued to thrust, riding out his own orgasm that followed close behind.  They collapsed to the floor, piled on top of each other, Ian not pulling out right away.  Mickey almost didn’t want him to.  He buried his face in the sheets as he caught his breath, the feeling of the red head on top of him not as foreign as he would have thought.  It felt…right.  Ian finally lifted off of him, lying down next to him._

_The moments afterward were – awkward.  Ian wanted to cuddle close, but Mickey wasn’t ready for it.  So they just lay there, side by side staring at the ceiling.  Ian expected it to be like this, so he let the moment stand for what it was.  He wouldn’t try to force conversation or the type of touching that happens after sex where you lazily rest your limbs over each other.  As an alternative he rested easily on his back and turned his head to see what afterglow looked like on Mickey.  He expected his eyes to land on the side of his face, assuming he would still be entranced by the ceiling.  Instead he met curious eyes already watching him._

_So they turned on their sides and faced each other, lying there without speaking until they both fell asleep.  And Mickey didn’t flinch when he woke up with Ian spooning him with his face buried in his neck._

A knock at the basement door startled Mickey out of his daze.  He gathered himself and stood as he rubbed the palms of his hands down his jeans, clammy where perspiration had gathered there.  He could beat a dead horse about being a Milkovich and never getting nervous, but he was, in a personal tug of war with hoping it was and wasn’t Ian at the same time. 

“Yeah?” Mickey called out.  The basement door crept open.  He didn’t even have to see the person before he knew who it was.  Mickey was screwed because the sound of a stride shouldn’t give someone away.  He knew his roommate’s gait all too well, from the countless nights he’s walked away from his bed after waking him – so Mickey told himself.  It was the weight of his footing, the swift but relaxed timing between each step that Mickey had involuntarily committed to memory.

“Hey,” Ian said timidly as he came into focus.

“Hey,” Mickey replied dryly.  Ian fidgeted nervously with the string on his sweatpants and Mickey cursed internally for him to stop.  He wanted to tug on the string himself, just a little harder to take the edge off; or to see the pants fall.

“Hey, uh –“ Ian stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Mickey staring at the drawstring on his sweatpants.  He cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly becoming dry.  “I’m sorry about Lip earlier,” Ian said in a voice as steady as he could make it.  Mickey tore his eyes away from Ian’s sweats and shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But he was an ass.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that.”  Mickey began gathering his things, doing anything to keep him from having to look Ian in the eyes, to keep his hands busy and away from grasping at that stupid string.  Ian frowned when he noticed how aloof Mickey was acting.  He automatically put it on him just being a jerk, not really acknowledging that he was avoiding bringing up what happened between them. 

_Last night._

“About last night,” Ian started as he walked up closer to Mickey.  The older boy had his back turned towards him, folding up the shirt and basketball shorts Fiona told him he could sleep in last night.  _They were Ian’s._  She went around checking on everyone once the commotion long died down, discovering Mickey was in bed fully clothed.  He was creating extra folds in the clothes for no particular reason, smoothing wrinkles that wouldn’t matter.  Ian placed his hand on his shoulder, expecting him to flinch, but he didn’t.  He turned his head, his eyes still not looking into Ian’s, but landing on his hands and the way his fingers curved around his shoulder blade.  “I just –

“No one can know about this,” Mickey cut across him.  Ian frowned and removed his hand off of his shoulder.

“As if I would tell anyone.”

“Yeah well, I don’t know that.”

“Now you do,” Ian started as walked around Mickey so he was now standing in front of him.  “And would it matter if anyone found out?”  That caused Mickey to look up, his eyes catching Ian’s and gripping so tight Ian almost wanted to look away.  He obviously struck a nerve.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“Didn’t you _like_ last night?” Ian asked.  He was beginning to second guess himself; lose his confidence.  Maybe Mickey just liked fucking with his head – a dangerous thing.  In Mickey’s mind, maybe he did like last night, but he couldn’t dare say that, not out loud.  His mouth wasn’t built for such honest expressions.  And now the conversation was turning into something so cliché.  Mickey didn’t talk about ‘last nights’ or ‘those nights’ where indelible lines were crossed by the ones who drew them.  But Ian obviously needed to understand why he was pulling away, yet again.  “What’s the problem Mick?”  

“The problem is, if anyone found out, particularly my psycho dad, he’d kill you then me and show up at both our funerals to pay his respects.”  Ian didn’t know Terry – just the depraved details Mickey had shared with him.  He was like that; cold as ice, but could burn like fire.  Lucifer, reincarnate.  Ian’s face softened when he realized what it was Mickey was going through.  He found himself back in the room where they once shared things that were meant to remain unspoken; bearing their souls and truths.   Mickey noticed the apologetic look on Ian’s face, his inner wall instantly crumbling.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Ian apologized.  “I just –“ he didn’t get to finish his sentence.  The rest of his words were swallowed by Mickey’s tongue which found its way into his mouth.  It happened so fast, almost knocking Ian off of his feet.  He was caught off guard, but quickly gathered himself, kissing him back as they tugged at the strands of hair at the base of their necks.  The kiss didn’t last long, but it was intense and biting.  Mickey pulled away, taking Ian’s breath with him.  “What was that for?” Ian asked still trying to catch his breath and comprehend what just happened.  Mickey suddenly looked away as he bothered his bottom lip with his thumb.

“It was…I just…look –“ Mickey was struggling to find the words.  “You do something to me.  I can’t explain it and I don’t think I want to.”  Ian’s eyes widened as Mickey spoke.  He never wanted an explanation, just for him to stop running.  “So please don’t make me.”   Ian remained silent, his feet glued in the spots they were in.  He wanted to respond, but the words he had deceived him and refused to come out.  Instead they fought against each other in his mouth, words swallowing words.  He watched hopelessly as Mickey picked up his things and began to make his way to the stairs.

“Wait,” Ian managed to choke out.  Mickey stopped but didn’t turn around.  “Will I see you again before break’s over?  New Year’s maybe?”

“Maybe.”  Mickey walked up the stairs without saying goodbye, and slipped out of the Gallagher house without being noticed.

Ian stormed upstairs, not sure if he was upset or confused.  It was too much to decipher and he felt his nerves breaking with each step to his bedroom, every emotion splintering his insides.  Having feelings for someone shouldn’t be this complicated, but it was.  He nearly knocked Ezra over on his way to his room, not bothering to say a word to his best friend.  His bedroom door slammed behind him, nearly hitting Ezra in the face.  He felt that something just happened, the wind from the door slam a far cry from the look on Ian’s face.  One of his hands lifted to knock, to ask his best friend what was wrong, but he knew Ian all too well.  He would leave him alone.

And maybe he thought twice about invading Ian’s privacy when he heard that all too familiar sound of pills rattling shakily in a plastic bottle.

******************

Ian hadn’t heard from Mickey for five days.  Neither had his own sister who practically took up residence at his house since Christmas Eve.  She complained about Mickey not picking up his phone and ignoring her texts while she played house with Lip and walked around in his t-shirts.  Ian had seen more than his fair share of Mandy’s ass peaking from under his brother’s politically incorrect threads.  Enough already.

Ian was annoyed.  It wasn’t Mandy and her dislike for clothing or Lip’s sneers every time she mentioned Mickey’s name.  It was her unconcern for the fact that her brother was M.I.A.  And despite his silence, she refused to go home to check on him.  _“Mickey’s a big boy.  He’ll be ok,”_ she would say to Ian who did the opposite of her apathetic attitude and worried.  He also sent his own strings of drunken text messages to Mickey a few nights ago, sans any actual alcohol – at least initially.

_[ **Gallagher 12:20am:** This isn’t a drunk text.]_

_[ **Gallagher 12:45am:** So u r just gonna ignore me now?]_

_[ **Gallagher 2:02am:** Fine. Forget anything ever happened.]_

_[ **Gallagher 3:55am:** We r roommates u can’t avoid me forever.]_

_[ **Gallagher 4:47am:** k now I’m drunk. u r a jerk goodnight]_

Now the thump of the music beneath his room floor made him want to plug his ears.  He was acting like such a fucking girl, his fingers poking away at the letters on his phone as he typed more messages to Mickey, opting for ‘delete’ instead of ‘send.’  He must have typed and erased fifteen messages, but he wasn’t counting.

“Yo, Ian!”

He jumped at the sound of Lip’s voice and spun around in his chair at his desk.  Ian furrowed his eyebrows at his brother’s need to startle him.

“Why are you yelling?” Ian asked annoyed.

“On your period?”  Lip walked more into Ian’s room.  “Dude I called your name like ten times just now.  Drift off much?”

“Shut up, you were not.”

“You do realize its New Year’s Eve, right?  You know, booze, the ball, _‘Auld Lang Syne?’_

“I’m fine in here,” Ian responded dryly.

“Mickey?” Lip threw out.

“What?”

“He’s the reason you’re so distracted.”  Ian stood from his desk and started to walk out of his room.  He was in no mood for his brother’s theories.  “Invite him to New Year’s tonight,” Lip offered as Ian stormed past him.  He wouldn’t even attempt to do so.  He would however, indulge in all the expensive liquor and champagne flowing though their kitchen, courtesy of Jimmy, the alcohol just eager to drown someone.

11:10pm.  Forty minutes until the ball was due to drop where everyone got their kisses at midnight and second chances.  It was all such a fallacy.  Ian wasn’t drunk.  He wasn’t.  He’d taken a couple sips of the full bottle of Crown Royale he swiped from the kitchen before the taste soured on his tongue.  His television was on silent as he watched the faces of smiling celebrities talking into the cameras and thousands of people clinging to each other in Times Square.  There was a buzzing, and he was certain it was in his head, until he noticed it was his phone on his bed.  He rubbed his eyes as he read the text message that had just come through.

[ **Mickey 11:11pm:** I’m drinkin alone.]

[ **Gallagher 11:13pm:** K, have fun.]

[ **Mickey 11:17pm:** Look i’m sorry.  I am a jerk] 

[ **Gallagher 11:18pm:** Yeah u are.]

[ **Mickey 11:21pm:** Come over?  Get the address from Mandy.]

Was he fucking serious?  Did Mickey think that Ian would run over to the south side just like that after the way he ignored him?  Ian studied the words on his screen.  There was only one answer he _could_ give.

[ **Gallagher 11:26pm:**  Ok.]

 

After being teased by Mandy and grilled by Lip, twenty-five minutes later Ian was in the south side.  He opted not to drive, taking the L which practically ran over the Milkovich household.  So many people were out celebrating and Ian wondered why Mickey was alone.  He now stood on the Milkovich porch, the empty beer cans, abandoned couch and God knows what else that littered the yard giving Ian a brief glimpse into just how unstable this house was.  A tire iron was leaned against the column at the top of the steps, the wooden enclosure carved with expletives and more than dilapidated.  A chill ran down his spine as he knocked, and he wasn’t sure if it was nerves for coming to see Mickey, or the things that probably took place behind closed doors here.

The boy on the other side of the door when it swung open wasn’t the same one that left the Gallagher household just five days earlier.  Mickey stood in the doorway, his left hand clenching tightly around the neck of a vodka bottle and the other gripping the splintering wood of the door.  He had a bruise underneath his right eye, and his eyes were slightly sunken.  Ian knew that look; he hadn’t been sleeping.  Ian’s eyes darted to a cut across Mickey’s bottom lip that looked like he may have had a busted lip a few days ago.  Mickey’s eyes, tired and red-rimmed, scanned across Ian’s body, the blue not nearly as vibrant, but still just as effective. 

“You gonna keep standing there or you gonna come in?” Mickey finally barked out.  His voice was groggy and cracked as he spoke.  He stepped aside and motioned with the bottle for Ian to come in.  The house was dark, the only light coming from the television playing lowly in the living room.  But there was also a different kind of darkness that lingered there; the kind that clung to the walls, waiting to suffocate you when the opportunity presented itself.

“You the only one here?” Ian finally asked.

“I said I was alone didn’t I?”  Ian cocked a brow at Mickey’s response.  He obviously was not in the best of moods which made him wonder why he was even there.  “My dad’s in Indiana with my brothers.  He left yesterday and won’t be back for another couple of days.”

“Oh,” Ian responded.  “Why’d you stay here?”  Mickey sat on the couch and pulled out a cigarette.  He side-eyed Ian and motioned with his head for him to come sit down.  As Ian made his way towards the couch, he noticed remnants of white powder on the coffee table and a rolled dollar bill.   

“Me and my dad haven’t uh…haven’t been on the same page lately.”

“That explains the bruises on your face?” Ian said as he sat next to Mickey.  He reached his hand out to touch the bruise under Mickey’s eye, this time the older by flinching.  “And the coke on the table?”  Mickey dropped his head.  Between the feelings for Ian he was figuratively fighting, while literally fighting with Terry, he’d been on an endless sleigh ride for the past five days.  It was the only way he could cope.

“Guess you can say that.”

“So why’d you invite me over?” Ian asked.  He was still somewhat confused as to why Mickey brought him over here after running off, ignoring him and obviously on a coke binge. 

“Ball drops in two minutes,” Mickey answered randomly, his eyes fixed on the television screen.

“Mick, you didn’t answer my question.”  No answer.  Ian felt himself getting annoyed all over again.  He didn’t need this shit.  “Mickey?”

“Mmm,” he mumbled back.  He was still looking at the screen, the ball due to drop in less than a minute now.

“You can’t just run off and ignore me, then arbitrarily invite me over.”  Mickey snuffed out his cigarette, his attention on the large display clock in the bottom of the screen, now counting down to a new year.  Thirty seconds to go.  Ian shook his head in disbelief.  “Be nice if you just told me why, but I guess not.”  The television hosts were counting out loud now, _“Ten…nine…eight…”_ Mickey finally turned and faced Ian.  “ _Seven…six…five…four…”_

The words _“Happy New Year!”_ blared from the screen as Mickey cupped both sides of Ian’s face.  He kissed him as the lyrics from ‘Auld Lang Syne’ played in the background.  It was his way of saying to Ian, _“This is why.”_    Mickey knew he had been sending too many mixed signals to Ian.  But this is what he wanted – _Ian_ was what he wanted.  The kiss was more than symbolic.  It was cathartic and slowly stitched up open wounds, suppressed old fears.  Mickey was terrified, but he had to try.  Ian made it easy as he lay back, bringing Mickey down with him.  His hands snaked their way under Mickey’s tank top as tattooed fingers tugged at red hairs.  It felt _right._ But right had no place in Mickey’s life.  It never did.  They were caught up, too far gone and deaf to anything that wasn’t the sound of their staggered breaths and fast heartbeats.

Because neither boy heard the front door open as Terry unexpectedly made an early return. 

~~~

_Mickey’s insides turned again.  He told himself to hold back being sick until he got back home.  He wasn’t sure he was strong enough.  Terry then turned to the two young men who stood ready and more than willing.  “Put him through the grinder.”  Terry turned to Vladimir who was now delirious, laughing sinister-like.  “Any last words faggot?”  Vladimir looked at Terry through his swollen eyes, and grinned, causing the freshly re-opened scars in his cheeks to bleed more._

_“You know you’re not much different from me, brother.”  Vladimir laughed again as he turned to Mickey.  “Zaštitite ju.”  Mickey’s face twisted into confusion.  Protect her?  Who?  Terry’s eyes grew wide._

_“Fuck you, you piece of shit!” Terry screamed.  “Sal!  Blake!  Now!”  The two young men started the machine and Mickey immediately turned his head.  Terry grabbed him by his chin when he noticed and forced him to watch.  “Don’t be a pussy son.  Watch what happens to AIDS monkeys.  Don’t ever become one, ever.  Or I’ll kill you myself.”_

_Mickey was certain he’d thrown up his insides when he got home.  He didn’t eat ground beef for a year._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to complete this chapter. January was a rough month for me, losing both my Uncle and my dog I've had for 17 years. So needless to say I took a hiatus from writing. I know I always take long to update, lol, but I think this was the longest. Not to mention, Season 4 of Shameless is ruining meeee!!! 
> 
> The story is about to take a drastic turn, as you can see. It will get bad again, but trust me, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Mickey is finally coming to terms with how he feels about Ian, but there is always the issue of his father and the memories he has. Mandy will also be roped in to the story more. They are going to go through some turbulence before heading back to New York...if at all. But of course that remains to be determined! For some reason, I listened to "We Must Be Killers" by Mikky Ekko while writing this.
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading! :)


	13. Like Brother, Like Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pressed the metal into Ian’s chest even harder as he closed his green eyes, knowing for sure this was it.
> 
> “They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die.”

_Her hands were busy under the kitchen table, picking at the loose threads at the bottom of her t-shirt, her eyes not yet meeting his.  Eye contact is tedious when you’re not exactly sure how to approach a certain situation, especially when it’s foreign._

_Mickey never asked Mandy to make a promise.  Milkoviches weren’t built to keep them.  But despite the fact they weren’t wired that way, this was absolutely necessary – and vital to his survival.  He just needed her to look at him._

_“Why did you run out like that?” Mandy asked, her eyes finally meeting her brother’s.  Mickey slammed down his beer he managed to drink in practically three gulps.  The way he bothered his lower lip with his thumb told her he was beyond uneasy._

_“Fuck Mandy.  Now’s not the time to ask me why I split.”  Mickey stood from the kitchen table, now staring down at his worried sister.  “Just promise me you’ll hold on to that shit – hold on to it like your fucking life depends on it.”  Mandy nodded her head in agreement, her hands finding their way back to the J. Crew catalog she found earlier.  The catalog was still open on the page with the red head her brother obviously favored.  He wanted to snatch the fucking thing out of her hand and rip it to shreds._

_“Does dad know?” she asked hesitantly._

_“Are you crazy?”  Mickey furrowed his eyebrows, incredulous his sister would ask such a question.  “Am I breathing?”_

_“Jesus, I was just wondering.”_

_“Wondering?  This is our dad we’re talkin’ about.”  As if Mandy didn’t realize that._

_“You still didn’t have to run off like that.  I wouldn’t have told him,” Mandy affirmed._

_“Yeah, well I had to get away for a while.”_

_Mandy’s eyes searched Mickey’s face, studying the uncertainties and how they settled in his darting eyes, refusing to make eye contact with her.  Fear was tucked tight in the creases of his frown, and longing in the way he chewed his bottom lip.  So many emotions shouldn’t be trapped beneath a person’s skin, the pressure bound to build and cause one to rip.  She finally closed the catalog as she stood and walked towards Mickey._

_“I won’t ever tell dad you’re gay.”  The sound of that word coming out of Mandy’s mouth made him inwardly cringe._

_“I know you won’t,” Mickey began as he finally looked his sister in the eyes, “because if he ever finds out, he’ll end me.”_

~~~~

His hands snaked underneath his shirt, his fingertips raking down his spine.  Mickey shivered at the touch, Ian never faltering with the way his nails lightly scraped his skin despite their combined weight pressing his hands into the couch.  This all felt too effortless, just like the way the spine is more equipped for bending forward.  The curvature is natural, easily allowing one to bend with ease, much like simple truths or being _you_.  But what about the opposite direction?  It’s far more tedious, requiring a lot more effort and yielding discomfort.  It’s like denial – you can only bend but so far until you tap out and give in to the pain or choose to veto the honesty and something _snaps_.

Mickey didn’t know how to bend his back to denial.  Not anymore at least.  His bones creaked, his joints were inflamed and his spine was something he no longer had the power to twist around what was true.  His body ached from all of the running.  Finally accepting who or what he was, he couldn’t be so sure, made his skin extra sensitive, feeling every grip and curl into his flesh, each touch pressing into the sore spots that lingered.  He felt _everything._   And it was no thanks to the creaky couch and kisses he shared with one precarious red head who smelled too good to be true.  It fucked with his senses.  Mickey couldn’t see beyond tufts of red hair and pale skin, or hear past the hands that gripped his neck and back.  Apparently, neither could Ian, because the sound of the door slamming and heavy footsteps didn’t break them out of their embrace.  Ian’s hand was making its way to the drawstring of Mickey’s sweats as he sucked a hickey into his collarbone, when he felt the older boy’s entire body being snatched from underneath him.

Just like that.

“What the fuck!” an angry Terry snarled.  Ian was caught off guard as he jumped up from the couch, his mind partly in a fog.  Ian was no stranger to the stories Mickey told him about the wrath of his homophobic father, thus he expected to come to Mickey’s defense, assuming Terry would be all over him.  Instead, he caught a right hook to the face causing him to free fall back onto the couch.  About 250 pounds of raging beast landed on his legs as two more blows struck his face.  Ian had never been hit so hard, the man’s fists like lead.

“Get the fuck off him!” Mickey yelled to the top of his lungs.  He jumped onto his father’s back, gripping around his neck with both of his arms as tight as he could, sending the mad man stumbling backwards.  They both fell onto the coffee table, already dilapidated from years of wear and tear, instantly crushing it to the floor.  Mickey was certain he felt splinters of wood stab him in his back and arms.  Terry let out a few grunts as he re-gathered himself, elbowing Mickey in the side of his head to loosen the death grip he had around his throat.  Mickey yelped in pain, immediately grabbing the side of his head.  Terry propped himself up onto his knees before turning and slamming his already bruised fists into Mickey’s face repeatedly.  He stopped after about six crushing hits, staggering to his feet.  Mickey stared up through already swelling eyes at his father, the look in his eyes nothing short of what he saw years ago as he tormented his uncle before he demolished him.

“So you wanna be a fuckin’ AIDS monkey, huh?”  The tone is Terry’s voice was reminiscent of that night in the old meat packing plant.  Mickey was curled on his side and before he could answer, Terry planted a steel-toe boot directly into his stomach.  Mickey was certain Terry just kicked life itself out of his gut.  He struggled to catch his breath after the powerful kick, almost on the brink of vomiting.  To add insult to injury, Terry lifted his leg, bringing it down into Mickey’s ribs.

Mickey wailed.  He was certain he felt a rib crack at the impact.

“That hurt?” Terry mocked.  “Good you fucking pillow biter!”

“Fuck you,” Mickey managed to squeeze out between gasps for air.  His spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor as he tried to prop himself up, but fell back onto the pile of broken wood.  Terry laughed as he reached for his flask in his jacket.  He tilted his head back, swallowing every ounce of alcohol that was left in it before purposely throwing it at Ian.  The metal tin hit Ian square in the jaw.

“Don’t you mean fuck your faggot friend there?” Terry began as he stared menacingly at Ian, “because that’s what you two were on the verge of doing, isn’t it?!”  Terry’s attention was towards Ian now, who was still lying on the couch trying to collect himself.  He turned his back to Mickey, taking heavy steps towards the red head with the intent to do damage radiating out of his ice cold eyes.  He was stopped by one of the broken legs of the coffee table coming across the back of his head.  Mickey managed to get up, grabbing a wooden leg in the process with one hand while gripping his ribs with the other.  He used every ounce of strength he had in him, the helpless look on Ian’s face more than enough motivation, and struck down on his father’s head, _hard_.

Terry wasn’t a normal human being.  The hit wasn’t enough to knock him out, but did just enough to make him stagger and lose his balance.  He fell on the opposite side of the couch Ian was on, screaming profanities into the dirty cushions.  He reached his hand behind his head, dark tints of blood all over his fingers after he brought his hand back in front of his face.  His eyes grew wide with an evil lust to draw that much more blood from his son and his roommate.  Mickey stumbled towards Ian, grabbing him by his shirt, quickly pulling him up to his feet.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Mickey said with shaky resolve.  His voice cracked and he was still breathing erratically, blood practically pouring out of his nose.  Both eyes were almost swollen shut and his lip was busted in multiple spots.  He pushed Ian towards the front door, the red head putting up more than a fight.  Ian wasn’t going anywhere – not without Mickey.

“Are you crazy?” Ian countered.  He grabbed Mickey by the collar of his shirt, already soaked in the blood that ran from his nose and pulled him towards him.  “I’m not leaving you here with him.  He’ll fucking kill you.”

“And you,” Mickey exhaled.  “And I can’t have that.” 

Mickey loosened Ian’s grip on his shirt, and managed to open the front door, but before he could push Ian out, dark metal came across his face once, then a second time on the side of his head.  Splotches of white were behind Mickey’s eyelids as he closed them upon impact of the gun hitting him.  The smell of gun metal was strong, the type of strong that lets one know the weapon was used not too long ago.  Terry shoved a now unconscious Mickey back inside.  He turned towards Ian, pistol whipping him across his face as well before kicking him out the door. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, ass digger!” Terry growled an inch from Ian’s face.  His breath was rancid and hot, smelling of alcohol and meth.  “Then I’m gonna kill your boyfriend in there.”

“He’s your son,” Ian said through unsteady breaths.  He began to choke on the blood in his mouth as he struggled to speak.  “You can’t – “

“Shut the fuck up faggot!”  Terry roughly jammed the gun into Ian’s chest as the young boy’s back pressed into the wooden beam.  He pressed the metal into Ian’s chest even harder as he closed his green eyes, knowing for sure this was it.

_“They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die.”_

_Ian looked at his best friend, the look in his hazel eyes a mixture of sadness and curiosity.  Ian had been out of the hospital all of one week and already Ezra felt the need to bring up philosophical ramblings Ian always thought were complete bullshit._

_“What are you gettin’ at Ez?” Ian asked in an exhausted tone.  He was so tired.  Ezra shifted on the giant bean bag in the middle of Ian’s room as he looked up at the red head sitting on the side of his bed sorting through new prescriptions on his night stand._

_“They said you died from the overdose Ian.”  Ezra’s voice was soft and almost painful to listen to._

_“I didn’t die.”_

_“You flat lined.”_

_Ian grew quiet.  He didn’t think his family shared that tidbit with his best friend, and suddenly Ian felt ashamed of thing he’d done.  It was a selfish move, and he wished he could take it all back.  Not to mention the experience was terrifying.  Ezra leaned forward, studying Ian’s eyes._

_“Did yours?” Ezra continued to press._

_“No,” Ian whispered.  His eyes shifted from Ezra to the bottles of different colored pills.  Blues.  Pinks.  Whites.  Reds.  His best friend grew silent as he leaned back into the bean bag, still watching him.   Ian’s life didn’t flash before his eyes._

_Because it’s different when you’ve walked around already dead for so long._

 

Ian’s eyes were screwed tightly shut.  They were so tight, he felt as if he would crush them into his skull.  The sound of his heavy breathing rattled in his ears.  Terry laughed wickedly in his face, covered in blood, sweat and now tears as he shook against the wooden beam.  And suddenly the very phenomenon his best friend mentioned that day in his room began to happen to him.  But what normally flashes as a loving family, first times, birthday parties and milestones were merely the days and hours spent with Mickey when he’d finally gotten the chance to _live_. 

“Please, don’t.” Ian begged.  Terry twitched excitedly, getting off on the fear in Ian’s voice. 

“Too late.  Have fun in hell.”  Terry raised the gun, aiming it right between Ian’s eyes.  The sound of the clicking gun nearly caused Ian to pass out. 

Except – it wasn’t Terry’s gun. 

Ian cocked one of his eyes open when he heard no blast go off, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw.

“Lower the fucking weapon you sonofabitch.”  Ezra stood behind Terry, a shotgun in hand pointed right at the back of Terry’s head.  Mandy and Lip stood in the doorway behind him.  Lip eventually came more into focus, stepping onto the porch as Mandy retreated inside to help her injured brother.  Terry lowered the gun, but began to laugh as he did so.

“And who the fuck are you kid?” he asked still facing Ian.  “You sure you know how to use that thing?”

“Wanna try me old man?”  One thing not many people knew about Ezra, is that he’d been shooting guns since he was a child, his father an active member of the NRA and an all around gun enthusiast.  He was a mean shot, and rarely missed a target when his father used to take him to the shooting range.  Ian felt a sense of relief, his best friend nodding his head towards him, letting him know he would be safe now.  “Drop your fucking gun, now!”  Terry reluctantly obliged and set the gun down on the porch.  Lip immediately grabbed the gun, making sure Terry couldn’t grab for it.

“How the hell did you know?” Ian managed to blurt out as he made his way to the doorway behind Ezra.  He leaned his head against his hands, the throbbing pain making him dizzy. 

“Mandy dragged us here after the ball dropped.  Said she wanted to come surprise you and Mickey given you guys were alone – keep the celebration going.”  Terry flinched as Ezra spoke, causing the boy to push the tip of the rifle harder into his head.  “You also still have a bad habit of leaving your phone in your back pocket Ian.  You butt dialed me, like always, and I heard the commotion.  Got concerned, told Lip and Mandy, and we sped the rest of the way here.”

“Mandy knew it was trouble as soon as we told her,” Lip chimed in.  At the mention of her name, Mandy stepped out on the porch, her face sad and angry at the same time.  The house phone was clenched tight in her hand as she stared at the back of her father’s head, tears pooling in her eyes.

“You call the cops?” Lip asked.

“Yeah,” Mandy replied in a low voice. 

“How’s Mickey?”

“Breathing, but unsconscious.”  She then turned to look inside the house, Ian already at Mickey’s side on the couch, his fingers twined with the older boy’s as he gripped his hand tightly.  He was whispering words Mandy couldn’t make out, his forehead pressed against her brother’s.  Terry began to turn around, causing Ezra to cock the break barrel of the shotgun as he closed one eye, his open eye focused on the target.

“Make one move and I’ll blow your brains all over this piece of shit porch,” Ezra said crossly.  Terry chuckled again, which was never a good sign.  Mandy moved in closer next to Ezra, her lower lip quivering.

“No, let the bastard turn around,” she said, her voice unstable.  Terry turned, his face covered in sweat and his eyebrows furrowed.  “Why would you do this?”

“Your brother’s a faggot, and I’m gonna kill him just like I did your perverted faggot of an uncle Vlad,” Terry said with venom in his voice.  Mandy’s eyes widened at her father’s confession. 

“What?  You killed uncle Vlad?”  Tears were streaming down Mandy’s face now, her voice getting louder each time she spoke.  “Why the fuck did you do that?!  And why would you hurt Mickey like this?  He’s your son!”

“Your uncle was a disgusting pedophile who molested your brother for years!  He got what he deserved.  And now no son of mine is gonna turn out like him.  I’ll kill him first you hear me!”  Terry was hysterical now, his hands balled into fists as his movements became more erratic.  Ezra pressed the end of the shotgun against Terry’s nose, pushing him back. 

Mandy suddenly took the phone in her hand and began to hit Terry over the head with it.  She was crying uncontrollably, her arms flailing as she cracked the phone across his face repeatedly.  Shock spread across Terry’s face as his youngest child abused him without surrender. 

“Fuck you!” she screamed.  “You killed your own brother and you almost killed Mickey!”  Lip managed to grab Mandy’s arms as she continued to cry.  Speckles of blood covered the phone where she had caused Terry to bleed.  Lip wrapped his arms around her, pressing her back into his chest.  With each of his breaths, she began to calm down.  But the tears continued.  Terry wiped a gash above his eyebrow and looked at the blood on his hand.

“You stupid little bitch!  You wouldn’t understand.  I did what was necessary.”

“And what made his actions so much more punishable than your own?” Mandy began as she wiped the tears from her eyes.  The sound of sirens blared down the street, the flashing police and ambulance lights now in their line of view.  Terry’s eyes widened at his daughter’s statement.  “You’re not much different dad.  Like brother, like brother, right?”  Ezra’s head turned at the realization of Mandy’s words, his eyes connecting with Lip’s who had already put two and two together.

“You watch your fucking mouth Mandy,” Terry warned. 

“No, you watch yours,” Mandy countered.  “You do the same thing to me daddy, right?  Have your way with me and whatnot when you’re drunk, or high.”

“Shut up!  You shut up now or –“  Mandy cut Terry off, moving in towards him, her face now inches away from his.  Her eyes grew dark.

“Even conceived a child, did you know that?”  In that moment, everything around them grew silent, the sirens seeming to dissipate in the disclosures of Mandy’s words.  They fell like cinderblocks in the quiet.  More shock consumed Terry’s face, his lips parting slightly as he prepared to speak, only a stifled breath managing to escape.  “I was sixteen and had a fucking abortion.”  At the close of her account, Mandy dropped to her knees and began to sob uncontrollably.  Lip knelt down, wrapping her with his arms as he comforted her. 

The police made their way onto the porch, at first apprehending Ezra, but quickly released him when Lip informed them that Terry was the culprit.  They removed the shotgun that seemed to be glued to his hands, taking it back inside the house.  The EMT’s made their way into the living room to tend to the two injured boys as one of the police officers smirked as he handcuffed Terry.  He was obviously an ‘old friend,’ having made Terry’s acquaintance on more than one occasion.

“You gettin’ into trouble again Terry?” the officer spat.  Terry began to writhe and shout vulgarities at the officer as he tried to get out of the handcuffs.

“Fuck you, you fucking fucker!  Let me out of these!”  Another police officer made their way onto the porch, helping the officer to subdue a now enraged Terry.  “You’re all faggots!  I said let me out of these!”

“Not a chance Terry,” the second officer said as they brought him down the steps.  “You’re breaking your probation, again.  And to add to that, you’re also getting booked for battery and assault with a deadly weapon – on your own damn son.  You’re gonna get a lot of time for this Terry.”  They practically dragged the maniacal man to the police car, shoving him inside and slamming the door shut.  They made their way back onto the porch, notepads in hand. 

“Mandy?” the first officer said to her.  Terry Milkovich was a county regular, so getting to know his children wasn’t hard.  Half the force knew them better than their own father.  Mandy, still cradled in Lip’s arms turned her head towards the officer, her red-rimmed eyes staring at his chest.  “You feel like talking to us?  Telling us what happened?”

Still not meeting the officer’s eyes, Mandy shook her head in a silent ‘no.’  Seeing what her dad did to Mickey was painful.  Hearing his reckless confession was painful.  Revealing the things he himself had done to her was painful.  So something as simple as speaking would be no exception.  She leaned her head into Lip’s chest as he moved her hair out of her face, strands sticking to her cheeks from the tears.  The officer put away his pen and stuck the small notepad on the inside of his jacket.

“I understand,” the officer said as he turned to go back to the police car.  “When you’re ready, you know where to find us.”

After what seemed like an eternity, the EMT’s finally made their way out of the Milkovich house, Mickey strapped tight onto a stretcher with Ian following close behind.  Mandy’s face was buried deeper into Lip’s chest as he held onto her as tight as he could.  She couldn’t look at her brother like that, practically lifeless being carried out.  Before Ian could make his way off of the porch, Lip grabbed his arm.

“You okay?” Lip asked Ian as he turned around.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  EMT’s bandaged me up and checked me out.  Just some bad cuts and bruises.”  Lip noticed the sadness in Ian’s eyes. 

“And Mickey?”

“Not so good,” Ian said as he looked back at the EMT’s hoisting Mickey into the ambulance.  “They said I could go to the hospital with him.”  Lip nodded, squeezing Ian’s shoulder, silently letting his little brother know that he was there for him.  A small smile formed on Ian’s lips before they began to quiver as he fought back tears.  Ezra came up beside him, and placed his hand on his bicep.  He squeezed lightly before leaning in and hugging him.  Ian pulled back and looked into his eyes, tears in the corners of his own.  “Thank you,” he said in a staggered breath.  Ezra smiled, not saying anything verbally, but saying more than enough through his eyes.  “I’ll call you when I’m on my way back home,” Ian said to his best friend.  Ezra nodded.

Ian quickly glanced at Mandy, a knot forming in his stomach at the sight of her.  She was a wreck.  He’d heard everything she said on the porch as he stayed by Mickey.  He wondered what his roommate would think if he too heard the horrors his father put Mandy through.  Ian shuddered at the thought, because certainly, he would eventually find out.  

He made his way to the ambulance, thinking of the hard life the two Milkovich siblings had growing up, and how they too must have been walking around dead, and far longer than he had been.

 

_Hook me up to an IV and give him part of me –_

_I’d do anything for him.  Anything just to make him open his eyes so I could see the endless blue that always made me feel lost in a sky somewhere.  He can’t go, he can’t.  Not when we’ve finally broken down the walls, our hearts and the way they beat the same like sledge hammers.  Not when he’s kissed me the way he has, our breaths becoming one.  Not when he’s finally accepted what we have.  Not when we’ve both just gotten the chance to live._

_They say anything dead coming back to life is painful.  I say he’s worth the pain.  Please, just wake up.  Please –_

“You alright there kid?” one of the EMTs asked a dazed Ian, snapping him out of his thoughts.  The ambulance hit a bump in the road causing Mickey’s head to fall to the side.  It was painful seeing him this way.  He was still unconscious and all Ian wanted to do was grip his fingertips around the back of his head to steady him.  But he knew he couldn’t touch him.  Not like this.  He didn’t want to hurt him any further. 

I’m hagnin’ in there,” Ian said in a low voice. 

“Try not to worry.  We’re takin’ him to the best.”  Ian cracked a small smile, forced, but a smile nonetheless.  He glanced down at Mickey’s hands and the way they were placed on his stomach, so limp and almost lifeless.  His own fingertips twitched, eager to find themselves brushing the underside of Mickey’s palm and eventually gliding over the inked letters between his knuckles.  But he felt uncomfortable with the EMT sitting there.  After all, this was the Southside.  The EMT glanced up at Ian, the look on his face almost reassuring.

“It’s okay to hold his hand kid.  No judges here,” the EMT said as he checked Mickey’s vitals.  Ian blinked his eyes frantically, taken aback by the man’s comment.  “I mean, if Jamie was lying where he is right now, I’d be holding his hand the whole way.”

“Who’s Jamie?” Ian asked, not really catching on.

“My boyfriend.” 

And with that said, Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand, determined to never let it go.

~~~

The bed he laid in certainly wasn’t his own.  He could tell.  

He woke up to the feeling of hands on his own.  Fingers curled lightly around his, the pads of fingertips brushing his palm.  Whose they were, he couldn’t be so sure as his eyes remained closed.  The curve of fingers around his always felt foreign regardless, even from a family member, so he couldn’t have guessed if he tried.  The hand twitched, the grip tightening as if frightened he would get away from them.  One of his thighs was weighed down by the weight of the individual’s head as they lay across it, their breathing heavy from sleep.  Their breath was warm through the covers.

After a few more moments, Mickey finally opened his blue eyes, the fluorescent lighting in the drop ceiling piercing through them like daggers – straight to his brain.  His migraine was maddening.  The intermittent sound of beeps around his head seemed to exacerbate the pain, also making him nervous, the all too familiar hospital music reminiscent of people _dying_.  He always hated the sounds.  They reminded him of his mother when she was on life support after the overdose.  He remembers the banging of the chairs against the wall and how the noise mixed with the beeping of the heart monitor.  Terry had thrown the first thing he could get his hands on the moment he decided to pull the plug.  Mickey hated hospitals ever since.  

Then it hit him – he _was_ in the hospital.

Mickey attempted to sit up as he blinked his eyes, his vision still blurry.  He winced as sharp jabs of pain hit him repeatedly in his ribs.  He could feel the bandages wrapped tightly around him, more than likely from multiple fractures or broken bones.  Mild panic set in as he began to remember what happened.  _Terry.  Ian.  A gun.  Then black._

Just as he was about to convince himself his father had for sure taken Ian out, his eyes landed on tufts of red hair planted on top of his leg.  It was Ian.  His face was looking towards Mickey, but he was sound asleep.  His eyes moved from side to side underneath his eyelids as if he was dreaming.  He was here with Mickey, alive, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what happened and how he ended up in a hospital bed instead of six feet under the ground.  On top of that, Ian looked fairly unscathed, the only visible injuries being a bruise under his left eye which was almost already healing and a scab above his eyebrow.

He looked down at the way Ian held his hand, so gingerly and with care.  Warmth traveled up his arm, settling in his chest as he watched his roommate sleep.  _“What the fuck happened?”_ was all Mickey could think as he wracked his brain for answers.  A gun coming across his face is the last thing he remembered.  Just as he was about to become too absorbed in his thoughts, Ian let out a grunt as he began to stir.  His grip on Mickey’s hand tightened as he blinked his eyes open.  His green eyes searched Mickey’s face, initially showing confusion before widening with surprise. 

“Mickey?” Ian said with a sleep heavy voice as his head shot up.  “You’re awake.”

“Yeah.”  Mickey’s voice was horse as if he hadn’t used it in weeks.  “The fuck happened?”  The smile that was forming in the corners of Ian’s mouth immediately disappeared as his face grew serious.

“Terry.”

“No shit.  I know it was my dad.  But what _happened_?”

“You really wanna know everything?” Ian asked, cautiously.  He knew there would be no way around the truth.  Still, he had to ask.  Mickey’s face twisted in a frown that was half him being in pain and half annoyed.

“You’re alive and I’m hooked up to fucking machines Gallagher.  So I’m gonna say yeah.”  Mickey tried to sit up further, the pain in his ribs almost making him scream.  Ian took his free hand and placed it on his thigh, rubbing his thumb in circular motions as he tried to help him stay still.  Mickey glanced at his hands, one gripping his thigh and the other almost desperately curled around his fingers.  It gave him a comfort he didn’t think he could have.  But the edge from needing to know what happened was still there, and his body tensed all over again as Ian’s eyes searched his.

“He tried to kill us, both,” Ian said through a shaky breath.  The idea of talking about this made him sick.  “He knocked you unconscious with his gun, and pointed it between my eyes.  But Ezra, Lip and Mandy made it in time to stop him before – “  Ian stopped mid-sentence, his eyes casting downward.  The words in his mouth suddenly forced their way back down.

“I got it,” Mickey responded.  He didn’t need Ian to say the word in order for him to know that a bullet between his eyes was exactly what Terry was aiming for.  “How long have I been out?”

“About a week.” 

“Terry in jail?”  Mickey was unfazed by the fact he’d been unconscious for a week.  Truth be told, it was probably a hiatus much needed – forced sleep, dream free.  He was more concerned about his father being behind bars where he couldn’t get to them anymore.

“Yeah, he is,” Ian responded.  His eyes then darted away from Mickey’s landing arbitrarily on the door to the room, then on the bed.  He fidgeted nervously with the blanket that covered Mickey, picking at the lint.  It was a dead giveaway.  Mickey squinted his eyes, positive Ian hadn’t told him _everything._

“What is it?” Mickey asked, suspicious. 

“What is what?”  Ian played dumb, hoping he could wave away the question.  Except, Mickey was sharp – Ian knew this.

“Don’t play dumb.  What are you _not_ telling me?”  Mickey stared through Ian.  He was so transparent.  Ian shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he released Mickey’s hand.  He hadn’t even realized he was holding it that long, Mickey also not noticing.

“I’ve told you everything.”

“Bullshit.”

Ian ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a ling sigh.  He looked Mickey in his eyes, knowing he couldn’t lie to him anymore.  But it wasn’t his place to tell a secret that wasn’t his. 

“I think you should talk to Mandy.”  The room door slammed causing both Ian and Mickey to look across the room.  Lip and Mandy stood, Mandy holding balloons and a teddy bear.  She looked at her brother, then to Ian before looking back at Mickey.

“Talk to me about what?” Mandy asked, her voice nervous.

“Talk to me about whatever the fuck it is Ian won’t tell me.”  Ian’s mind got away from him.  He was so nervous he failed to notice Mickey called him by his first name.  Mandy’s face falling caused the red head‘s gut to twist around itself.  Noticing her change in demeanor, Lip grabbed the gifts out of her arms and set them on an empty chair.

“I, uh, think we should give them a moment,” Lip said to his brother.  Silently acknowledging that the Milkovich siblings needed to be alone, Ian got up.  He looked back at Mickey who was still staring intently at his sister.  He walked out of the hospital room with Lip, closing the door behind him.

Mandy slowly walked up to Mickey’s bed and sat in the chair Ian had just vacated.  Her face was past painful – it was numbing.  Mickey had a sixth sense when it came to his sister and he almost _knew_ where the conversation was going before it even started.  Mandy dropped her head and focused her eyes on the needles in her brother’s veins, the sight easier to take in than his face would be once he heard this.  She fiddled nervously with her ripped jeans, the uncertainty in her face nothing shy of the day they were at the kitchen table, the J. Crew catalog laying on a place mat.

“Mandy,” Mickey said as tried to pick apart her emotions.  “What is it?”

“Dad.  He, uh, um – “  Mandy cut herself off before a single tear ran down her face.  She didn’t want to tell Mickey as she knew this would destroy him.  And given what she had just learned about him and his history with their uncle, she was more than hesitant.  But Ian, Lip and Ezra knew when they didn’t have to.  Mickey was her brother, and he _had to_ know.

“Mandy.”

“He mistakes me for mom when he’s drunk or high, you know?  He…he comes into my room sometimes.”  Mandy lifted her head, a single tear streaming down her face.  She parted her lips to continue speaking, but Mickey stopped her, not needing her to finish before he could put two and two together.

“No.  No,” Mickey said angrily as he shook his head from side to side – a gesture of denial despite him knowing what she said was true.  His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth.  Even with broken ribs, he felt as if he could lunge at Terry had he been present.  “Fuck.” 

“That’s not all,” Mandy said, the tears more steady now.  Mickey’s eyes widened as he thought what else there could possibly be.  His nostrils flared as his breathing got heavier.  “He got me pregnant.  I had an abortion.  I – I’m so sorry Mickey.  I couldn’t tell you.”

Mickey heard nothing beyond his own heartbeat at that moment.  And with that said, he knew what he had to do.

~~~

Winter break had come and gone.  The remaining time was spent sweeping things under the rug and avoiding conversations about the incident.  Ian had visited Mickey every day while he was in the hospital until he was released a week after waking up.  He visited the Milkovich house with Lip a few times following, but decided after the second visit that Mickey and Mandy needed their space for the time being.  She was still a wreck and the bags under Mickey’s eyes had returned.  He wasn’t sleeping again.  So they talked through text messages here and there, the language neutral and conversations bland.

Maybe things would get better once they got back to New York.

There were a few days left before they were scheduled to fly back, and Ian decided to give Mickey a call.  He didn’t understand why, but his nerves were all over the place, his fingers hesitant as they pressed the numbers.

“Hello?” Mickey answered.  It sounded as if he had been sleeping.

“Were you sleeping?” Ian asked.  “I could call you back later.”

“It’s fine.”

“Ok.”  Ian fell silent.

“Got somethin’ to say?”  Mickey’s voice was monotone, a rhythm Ian wasn’t used to hearing from him.

“Yeah.  I, uh, wanted to know if you wanted to stay over the night before we’re scheduled to leave?  We could, you know, share a cab?”  Ian could hear shuffling in the receiver, as if Mickey was sitting up in bed.  He let out a long breath before responding.

“I’m not going back.  At least not now.”  Ian paused, unable to find any words to say.

“Why not?” he finally managed to squeeze out.

“Got some things I need to take care of here first.”

Take care of?  Ian couldn’t believe what he had just heard.  And despite the urge to talk Mickey out of staying behind and having to take a leave of absence from school, he decided against it.  His heart never felt so heavy.  He didn’t ask what these “things” were – as long as they involved him _coming back_.

Ian eventually made it back to their dorm room, _alone,_ and Mickey wasn’t answering his calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the wait. Shameless is finally over (FML), so updates will be more frequent (Scout's Honor!). This chapter was pretty rough to write, not so much emotionally, but in terms of making it flow. I certainly tried my best to do it justice. Well, I hope you all enjoyed, and please don't hate me for the ending! I swear what is to come will be worth it. As always, thanks for reading. I love you guys. :)


	14. Romeo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore are thou Romeo?_   
>  _Deny thy father and refuse thy name._   
>  _Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,_   
>  _And I’ll no longer be a Capulet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one. :)

“You love too hard.”

Ian twisted his neck towards Sanai who was lying at the foot of his bed.  She had a book held up to her face as she lay on her back, Ian’s crossed ankles hanging over her thighs.  He shifted, the angle he was in suddenly feeling awkward, moving the pillows behind his back so he was more comfortable – but it wasn’t the posture of his back that was making him uneasy.  “Who said anything about love?”  The four letter word nearly tripped over his tongue – it was something he never thought about or considered.  _Not really._   He took notice of the name written in cursive on the spine of the book she was absorbed in.

“No one _has_ to say anything about it, especially when it’s so obvious,” she retorted, her eyes never leaving the pages.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Ian asked, not really wanting her to answer the question.  Because there it was, the ugly head of denial rearing itself.  There wasn’t enough room for it _and_ acceptance, not in his bed.

Sanai closed the book, placing it next to her as she sat up and slid next to Ian.  “Fucking Shakespeare,” she grumbled as her eyes bulged out at the literature on the bed.  She then turned her eyes towards Ian.  His head was leaned against the wall above the short headboard, his green eyes almost looking through her brown ones, distant and somewhere other than the confines of his dorm room.  “Earth to Ian,” she said as she cupped his face.

“I’m here,” Ian sighed as he turned his head so he was now facing straight.  This was a regular thing with them now since Mickey had been gone, her coming over and studying or just running her mouth, giving Ian the company she knew he wanted but was too proud to ask for.  In a sense, she was a lot like Ian, intuitive and empathetic, sometimes to a fault, her heart worn on her sleeve, which made it easy to get hurt – and she had been many times.

“Heard from him yet?” she asked, her voice heavy with concern.  Ian turned to look at his phone on his nightstand, picking it up and flicking on the screen.  No missed calls.  No new messages. 

“No,” he said through a heavy breath. 

“You miss him, don’t you?”  Ian looked back at his friend, biting the inside of his cheek.  He knew whether or not he chose to answer her, she would automatically know. 

The first week of the Spring Semester had been hell for Ian.  He walked around like a zombie, his usual vibrant spirit dull and diminished like a forgotten shadow.  Simon and Sanai had walked back to his dorm with him one afternoon to go over the materials for the Psychology lab they were in together.  Sanai almost immediately noticed Mickey’s empty bed, the usual, unmade mess it was only a sheet neatly spread now.  That side of the room showed signs of the lack of life, dust collecting where Mickey’s boots used to be.  It was then and there he had to tell them Mickey chose not to come back, “ _yet,”_ as Ian had added to the end of his sentence.  He’d try to convince himself from time to time that it was temporary, when he knew he couldn’t be so sure.  But Sanai caught the look in his eyes as he said it, immediately knowing there was more to the story.  After Simon left, she told Ian to talk, revealing to him that his feelings for Mickey was something she caught on to long before Christmas break.

_“You don’t have to hide anything,” Sanai assured Ian as she sat next to him on his bed._

_His shoulders slumped as his body got heavy, his head slightly lowering as his eyes were cast to the floor.  “I know,” Ian sighed.  He looked over to Mickey’s side of the room, now a hollow space where residual echoes of one boy from the Southside now lingered._  

And that’s how he ended up pouring out his heart and soul to her, leaving nothing but unanswered questions inside of the hollow space in his chest.

“I do miss him,” he finally answered after a long pause.  It was the first time he said it out loud.

“You try calling his sister?  Mandy is it?” Sanai asked.  Ian let out a long exhale at the mention of her name.  It was now almost two months into the spring semester, and although Mandy did take his calls once in a while, he gained no ground with getting in contact with her brother.  The answers she gave him in regards to Mickey were always short and cryptic.  Ian knew he probably made her promise to mention nothing about how he was or what he was doing to him, the struggle to keep a promise apparent in the tone of her voice.  “Yeah.  She answers sometimes, but she doesn’t tell me anything much, even when I ask.”

“I’m sure it’s not her choosing to do that,” Sanai assured him as she picked up the Shakespeare book she tossed on the bed.  “Just know it’s probably Mickey not wanting to worry you any further – or hurt you more.”

“Not speaking to me worries me.  And he’s never really hurt me before.”

Sanai peered over her tortoise framed glasses she always used for reading, looking at Ian almost in incredulity.  “He’s a guy Ian.  A guy you like.  And guys you like _always_ manage to hurt you somehow.  It’s inevitable.”

“Inevitable.”  The word rolled slowly off of Ian’s tongue, a memory tugging at his chest as he reminisced about curious blue eyes and flushed lips.  “Love is inevitable Sanai.  Getting hurt shouldn’t have to be.”

Sanai smiled wide, her lashes fluttering as she looked at Ian. “But who said anything about _love_ , right?” she mocked as she gently shoved Ian’s shoulder with her own.

“I didn’t mean – “

“Yeah you did!” she screeched as she thumped the corner of the book onto his chest.  Ian rolled his eyes, knowing that arguing with this girl was a losing battle.

“Whatever,” he surrendered as he picked up Sigmund Freud’s, _The Interpretation of Dreams._

Sanai’s eyes stared inquisitively at the book he was now reading.  “Freud?  What class is that for?”

“Psychoanalytic Literary Theory,” Ian answered, his eyes still in the pages.  He heard Sanai let out a disapproving hum, the sound letting him know she wanted to know nothing more about the class.  Ian was always just as good at English and Literature as he was at picking apart people’s behaviors.  Too bad he always failed to pick apart his own.  He then focused his eyes on the book she was reading.  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“Yeah,” she huffed.  “I hate this shit.  Took Shakespeare thinking it would be a breeze, but it isn’t, trust me.”

“I actually like the guy.”  Ian then reached for the book still in his nightstand drawer, pulling it out.  He felt the pages as he reminisced over a debate almost forgotten.  “Read this last semester.”

“Romeo and Juliet, huh?”  Sanai took notice of the look on Ian’s face, the pining very apparent in the way his eyes zeroed in on the cursive writing and the way he chewed his bottom lip.  He had _Mickey_ written all over his face, his fingers curling tightly around the spine of the book.  “And I wonder who’s Romeo,” she said as she looked caringly at him.

The red head slowly placed the book in his lap, the look in his green eyes all the answer she needed.

 

_“I would’ve killed him and saved her.”_

_“What?” Ian asked Mickey, his statement coming out of left field._

_Mickey stood from his bed and walked over towards Ian.  He got close, too close, the red head pressing his back into his headboard as the older boy’s waist became level with his face.  He was a foot away.  “Romeo and Juliet,” Mickey said as he motioned his hand towards the cover of the book the younger boy was engrossed in._

_Ian crinkled his brows once he realized what his roommate was talking about, letting out a huff.  “You can’t do that,” he began as he closed the literature.  “It wouldn’t work.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“You can’t only kill Romeo and not Juliet Mickey.”_

_“Not me, the funny lookin’ dude in the tights.”_

_“Shakespeare?”_

_“I know who he is,” Mickey jeered.  “Still looks funny as shit.”_

_Ian shook his head, amused by Mickey and his reasoning on Shakespeare.  “Shakespeare knew what he was doing when he wrote this, killing them both.”_

_“Well, Romeo wasn’t ready for a girl like Juliet,” he scoffed as he grabbed the book from Ian, flipping through the pages.  Ian quickly curled his fingers in on themselves, the spark of electricity Mickey’s fingers left when they brushed against his sending a chain reaction through the rest of his body.  “I say Shakespeare here should’ve nixed him, and kept her.”_

_Ian rubbed his fingers through his hair, the energy still in his tips creating static, causing a few strands to stand up.  He was caught off guard when Mickey chuckled, quickly smoothing down the erratic strands with the palm of his hand in one swift motion.  “Eh, um,” Ian stuttered as he gathered himself, “it completely changes the meaning of the whole story if you only kill him – its sole purpose.”_

_“Oh yeah?” Mickey said as he arched a brow.  He crossed his arms, the muscles in them becoming more prominent.  Ian felt his heart pick up speed at the sight, him hoping and praying his crush wasn’t obvious.  But if Mickey had eyes, he was certain he saw the blush creeping into his cheeks.  “And what’s that?” Mickey asked._

_Ian paused as he looked up towards his roommate who was oddly comfortable with their close proximity.  For a second, the older boy’s eyes darted away, before focusing back on his freckled face.  A small smile formed on Ian’s lips as he leaned forward off of his headboard, offering his response._

_“The forcefulness of love, and the inevitability of fate.”_

~~~

11:11 AM. That’s the time you’re supposed to see a sign, meaning comes out of some type of coincidence and shit aligns, or something like that.  Maybe there’s eleven angels working together on your behalf, or perhaps it’s just eleven minutes past 11 AM.  For Mickey, it was none of the above.  This was just another moment for him, not linked to time or space – it simply meant he was still breathing.

His eyes zeroed in on the clock that sat on his nightstand.  11:12 AM. A minute passed, but for Mickey, minutes lately felt like small eternities. 

“Ay yo!  Milkovich!  You listenin’?”  Mickey jolted out of his thoughts, the voice on the other end of the line more than loud enough to do it.  “You been silent for like, the last couple of minutes yo.”

Mickey pressed the pads of his thumb and index fingers into his eyes, a headache creeping behind them.  Whether or not it was a headache from last night’s binge or just pure exhaustion, he couldn’t be so sure.  It could just be from the fact that he was on the phone with Giancarlo Giovanni, Carlo for short, of all fucking people.  If he’d ever consider anything in his life as hitting an all-time low (because just being a Milkovich was the lowest of low), this would be it.  “Hold your fuckin’ horses,” Mickey spat as he stood from the side of his bed.  All of a sudden he was irritated with this douchebag on the other end of the line – and he was the one who called him.

“Look man, you called me,” Carlo bit back.  His Guido accent made him sound even more like an ass when he became irritable.  “And quite frankly, I was a little pissed a Milkovich had the balls.  That is until you gave me this information.”

“Be pissed all you want.  I was just as pissed callin’ but that’s beside the point.  You understand what I just told you Giovanni?”  Mickey was getting more and more impatient by the second, almost hating himself for what he was doing, but fuck all if this didn’t have to be done – _need_ to be done.

“Yeah, I got it,” Carlo responded, the skepticism heavy in his voice.  Nevertheless, he resigned to what was taking place and let out a grunt of agreement.  “S’long as you stand by it.”

“I fuckin’ stand by it alright?  Just tell me if that favor you owe me still stands.”

“It stands.”

“Then get it done.”  And Mickey was done.  He heard enough of a Giovanni in his ear, but just as he was about to hang up, the scumbag had the nerve to ask a question.  Fucking Giovanni’s – always the inquisitive types and naturally dubious of everyone.  In a sense, they were a lot like his family, just less loyal and far more sordid.  The rift between the Giovannis and the Milkoviches ran more than a decade deep, some shit that went down between Giancarlo Sr. and Terry starting it all.  Now Giancarlo Sr. was in prison, down one brother and forever sour towards any Milkovich.  But despite past histories, Mickey opted to do this.

“Yo, why you doin’ this Milkovich?” Carlo inquired.  Mickey opened his mouth, a certain word literally almost jumping off of his tongue.  While he was certain it was the absolute truth, saying it out loud would be the death of him.  He quickly shut his mouth, swallowing the most natural answer and real reason he was doing this, before opening it to produce a more generic answer.

“I have my reasons,” he responded gruffly. 

“Ok.  I got it man.”

“Good,” Mickey sneered as he started to turn around.  “You got it, now do it.”  And just like that, their conversation was over. 

He nearly dropped his phone at the sight of Mandy standing in his doorway.  Her hands were aimlessly rubbing up and down her arms as she stood, her back humped slightly and her eyes wearing days of not sleeping through the night.  There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked even skinnier than normal.  She wasn’t eating again.  “Do what?” she asked, her face curious.

“Nothing,” Mickey lied.  “How long you been standin’ there?”

“Couple minutes.  Who were you talking to?”  She dropped her hands to her sides, her fingertips finding their way to the loose threads at the bottom of her worn t-shirt.

“No one,” he said as he walked past her, making his way to the kitchen.  She followed close behind him, the sound of her light footsteps making almost no sound at all.  He opened the refrigerator, bending his body forward as he searched for a beer, and nearly dropped it when coming back up to Mandy standing right behind the opened door.  He didn’t even hear her come that close.  Her face was twisted in a frown.

“Why do you feel the need to lie to me lately?”  Her question was rhetorical, but also requiring an answer.  It could have gone either way with Mickey remaining quiet in admitted guilt, or giving her some bullshit response.  Pride made him choose the latter.

“I’m not lying to you,” he lied.  Mandy rolled her eyes, clearly not believing him.  Ever since he told her he wasn’t going back to school, she had been all over him, watching his every move like he was a fucking child.  It only got worse after Ian had called the first time.

_Her phone vibrated only twice before she answered with the utmost urgency.  Mandy’s face was already lit, the name flashing on the screen making her smile._

_“Hey there,” she answered endearingly.  Mickey sat across the kitchen table, not needing her to tell him who it was.  She laughed a few times, the melancholy that had been all over her face lately fading with each laugh._

_Mickey eyed his sister as she adamantly listened to the voice on the other end of the line, her eyes bright.  But the twinkle in them was brief, the look on her face suddenly turning serious as she turned her attention towards him.  She opened her mouth mid stare, the words getting stuck in her throat as she eyed her brother.  She looked like a combination of a deer in headlights and a dead fish, the way her mouth hung slack-jawed letting Mickey know the conversation had turned to him.  “Don’t you say a fucking word,” he said barely above a whisper._

_“I – uh,” Mandy began as she cleared her throat, “I’m not sure.  He’s here, there.  Can’t keep track, ya know?”_

_She’d given Mickey the death glare when she got off the phone with Ian, the look in her eyes now on the verge of anger.  Mickey stared back just as hard, pointing his finger as he stood.  “I don’t wanna hear it Mandy,” he snapped.  Of course she ignored him, throwing the sharpest dagger she could find._

_“The hell are you hiding from?”_

Mandy was at her wits end.  She closed the refrigerator door, nearly slamming Mickey’s hand in it.  She walked up to him so their faces were less than an inch apart, pointing her finger in his face so close, her fingernail nearly brushed the bridge of his nose.  “Fuck you,” she said angrily.  Mickey looked at her, shocked she was talking to him like this, but more hurt over the fact that her anger stemmed from knowing he was lying to her.  “Fuck you!  Fuck you!” she now screamed, this time bringing down both of her hands, balled into fists, into his chest repeatedly.

“Mandy,” he said even-tempered.  But she didn’t hear him, refused to hear him, her hands still flailing angrily.  He finally put his beer on the counter, grabbing her by both wrists as he tried to calm her.  Tears were streaming down her face now.  “Mandy!” he screamed.

She finally started to calm down, her eyes landing on his.  A shaky breath escaped her lips, the first words out of her mouth hard to say.  “We’re both fucked up, ok?” she began as she snatched her hands out her brother’s grip.  Mickey didn’t respond, only watched her unravel, his hands now heavy and hanging limply at his sides.  She wiped the tears that streamed down her face with the back of her hand.  “It’s not just you who caught it Mickey.  What happened to you…what happened to me – it was all fucked.  But you’re not alone in this, you have to know that.”

He should have been crying also, but he just couldn’t let it out.  Instead he tightened his jaw, determined to show no emotion as he steeled himself on the outside – but his insides screamed in just as much pain as his sister was in.  “I know,” he managed to say through a hoarse whisper. 

“So stop treating me like a fucking stranger, and stop hiding shit from me.”  She reached around him, grabbing the beer he had just taken out for himself and opened it.  She walked over to the kitchen table, chugging half the bottle before she even sat down completely.  She wiped the back of her mouth with her hand, her eyes focusing on the table.  “What are you doing?” she asked after a brief pause.  She still wasn’t looking at him.

Mickey looked at her, confused by what she was asking.  “Huh?”

“Don’t bullshit me Mickey, just answer me honestly for once,” she sighed into her hands as she placed them on her forehead.  “What are you doing?  You refuse to go back to school, you go on benders at night, you’re having secret phone conversations, and –“ She paused before finishing her sentence, looking up from the table so she could see his eyes.  “And you’ve been making me lie to Ian when he asks about you.”

If there was ever a time Mickey had no words to say, it was then.  Just his name alone now had a certain effect on him, making him tongue-tied and mentally delayed as he tried to wrap his head around the emotion that came from the mere thought of him.  _Ian._ He was foolish and fragile, wanting someone so bad he knew he couldn’t have now.  He couldn’t respond, and now he was the one standing slack-jawed and dumbfounded.  When he didn’t respond, Mandy laughed, brushing her messy bangs out of her face.

“Oh no answer huh?” she said as she stood.  She walked back up to her brother who was now chewing so hard on his bottom lip, he was sure to draw blood.  She squinted her eyes as she looked him in his face.  “I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but if it has anything to do with our father – “

“You don’t know shit,” he cut her off.  A small smirk played at her lips, her tactic working flawlessly.  She’d gotten the exact reaction she was looking for.

“He’s a piece of shit Mickey, and if you’re planning to kill him or something, it’s not worth it.”

“I’m not,” he replied.

“I’m not convinced,” she retorted.

“Ay, believe what you want, but believe me that’s not what I’m doing.”  Mickey walked past her, making his way back to his room.

“It would be a mistake if you did,” she called out to him.  “He’s not worth you ruining your life.”  Ruin his life?  Was Mandy fucking serious?  How could someone as shitty as Terry Milkovich being dead, ruin something that he had ruined enough already by the smite of his own hands?  Mickey didn’t turn around to respond, only scoffed at the comment as he made his way back to his room.  If only she knew what a mistake truly was, especially concerning their father. 

 

_When Mickey answered the phone and heard it was a collect call from Terry, he considered hanging up, but decided to take it._

_“The fuck are you still doin’ in my house?” Terry barked into the phone._

_“Not your concern now is it?” Mickey sneered.  He heard Terry let out a sinister chuckle, the same one that always got under his skin._

_“You’re a tough guy on the other end of this line, huh?  You’ve got some nerve boy.  First having that filth in my home, now you back talk me?!  And I would tell you that faggot boyfriend of yours made a mistake by bringing that shit into my house, but no,” Terry said as he continued to laugh.  “Because the biggest mistake he ever made was not having that little shit blow my head off when he had the chance.”_

_The threat was clear._

 

Mickey was about to close his room door, when he felt a pull keeping him from doing so.  He shot Mandy an angry glance.  “The fuck are you doing?”

“I wasn’t finished,” she said as she bombarded her way into his room.  Mickey sighed as he sat on his bed, a look of surrender on his face.  Mandy noticed he was neither angry nor impatient, rather he had given up.  “Look Mickey.  I understand all of the things you’re feeling, but please don’t hide shit from me.”

“Mandy – “

“No, let me finish and I’ll leave you be,” she said a she threw up her hand to cut him off.  “I trust you Mickey, and whatever it is you’re doing I have to believe it’s for a reason.  But could you promise me two things?”

Mickey furrowed his eyebrows at the word that just came out of Mandy’s mouth.  _Promise?_ She knew that word was not in the Milkovich vocabulary.  But the more he thought, he remembered a time when she herself made him a promise, his sexuality something that held enough baggage for the weight of one hundred promises.  In fact, she was still keeping unasked promises for him, keeping Ian at bay, despite the fact she hated doing so.  “What?” he asked, although reluctantly.

She stared at him for what felt like an eternity, the bags underneath her eyes making Mickey realize she was going through as much hell as he was.  Suddenly, he felt a pang of guilt hit him.  He felt selfish.  “When whatever this is blows over, promise me you’ll go back to school.  We both don’t need to end up stuck in this shithole,” she began as stared intently at him.  Mickey was well aware of how much she hated that he was wasting his potential.  She then began to rub her arms again, looking more fragile than she had earlier.  “And promise that you’ll go back to _him._ ”

She didn’t have to say the name for Mickey to know who she was referring to.  His face instantly softened, an answer far too hard to get out of his mouth.  Instead, he gave a half nod, the knot forming in his chest making it hard to breathe.  She smiled slightly, silently acknowledging that she’d gotten his answer and made her way to his bedroom door.  She was almost fully out, before she turned around.

“You love too hard Mickey,” she said as she closed the door before giving him a chance to react.  Mickey ignored his rapid heartbeat and the way it practically banged in his ears.  His eyes grew wide at yet another word that wasn’t in the Milkovich vocabulary.   

Because who said anything about _love_?

~~~

“You’s my own son and you don’t visit me.  I knew it was some shit,” Giancarlo Sr. barked into the phone on the other side of the prison glass, his Italian accent thick.  “You sure about this?”

“Papa I’m sure,” Carlo responded.  His father narrowed his cold gray eyes, his lips pressed tightly in a crooked line.  He rubbed his thumb and index fingers down the sides of his salt and pepper goatee, his mind obviously working more than it had in years.

“Milkovich, eh?”  A crooked smile formed on his lips before flattening back out.  “The fuck are you doin’ talkin’ to me about a Milkovich huh?  _Se pazzo?!_ ” Giancarlo Sr. nearly yelled.  Whenever he got extra irritated he spoke in Italian – he sounded a lot more threatening in his native tongue.

“No, I ain’t crazy.  Calm down.  You know I don’t do shit that isn’t… _warranted_ ,” Carlo defended.

“Your source?”

“It’s legit.”  The tension in his father’s shoulders slowly loosened as a look of pure gratification spread across his aged face.  “So uh, just put that bug in a few ears.  I know you wanna take matters into your own hands, learnin’ the truth and all, but let things work themselves out.”

“Terry huh?  Can’t say I’ma surprised,” Giancarlo Sr. said slowly.  He looked at his son, for once feeling somewhat proud that he did something in the name of the family, although suspecting he by no means did it on his own recognizance.

“He’s bein’ transferred here in a next week,” Carlo assured his father.

The man behind the glass let out a hum of approval as he once again smiled crookedly.  “Quel bastardo fottuto malato,” he said in a low snarl.

~~~

Shoot him now.  Ian curved his neck forward, the text book he had his nose shoved in for the past two hours still not making sense.  He never struggled with a subject, especially in Psychology, but for some reason he found himself drawing blanks when it came to Cognition.  He had the worst headache and found himself extra irritable, the curse words he mumbled under his breath far from ‘under’ as Jessica and Sanai quickly caught wind of what he was saying.  Apparently, he was pretty much talking out loud.

“Fuck what?” Jessica asked as she turned around towards Ian.  She was lying belly down on Mickey’s empty bed.  The sight was sacrilegious to Ian.  He almost asked, more like told her to get the fuck off, the actual words right there at the tip of his tongue, until Sanai shot him a glance.

“Fuck _this_ shit!” Ian practically yelled as he slammed his textbook shut.  “Are you two getting this?  Because I’m not getting it.”

“What don’t you understand?” Sanai asked as she sat up in the beanbag on the floor. 

“Everything,” Ian huffed.  He was having a piss poor semester, and was certain he was losing his mind day by day.  And while he wasn’t failing his classes, he was finding it difficult to concentrate, the only thing on his mind almost halfway across the country.

“That’s not good,” Jessica offered as she sat up. 

“Yeah no shit,” he spat.  “I’m so gonna fail this midterm.”  Ian buried his face in his hands, his headache getting worse.

“Why don’t we just cool it for a while, take a break?” Sanai suggested.  “Maybe after taking your mind away from this for a minute, you’ll absorb it better when coming back to it.”

“Doubt it,” Ian replied.  He doubted a lot of things lately.  He gave Thomas a run for his money. 

“Damn you really need to get laid,” Jessica laughed.  Ian twisted up his face at her, not sure if he was more amused by what she had just said or insulted.

“What?” he posed.

“You’ve been a total queen this semester, no offense.  You’re far more tense than usual, all mopey and acting like you’re on the rag.  I mean, when was the last time Ian?”  The blonde made her way over to his bed before flopping down next to him. 

“As if it’s any of your business, but trust me that is _not_ it.  And it hasn’t been that long, ok?” Ian defended.

“Ok, then when?” Jessica continued to press.

“If you must know – winter break.  Christmas Eve to be exact.”  Jessica’s eyes grew wide with curiosity.

“What?  With who?” she asked, her eyes still wide.  Sanai jumped up, interrupting the moment.  She caught the look in Ian’s eyes, realizing who it was he had been with and the fact that Jessica didn’t know this particular person even batted for that team.  She knew Ian was a terrible liar.

“Stop being so nosey,” Sanai interjected.

“What?  I wanna know.  C’mon, who’s the lucky guy?” Jessica continued.  She was relentless.  “Someone I know?”

Sanai and Ian simultaneously looked at each other, the silence in the room deafening, practically screaming _Mickey fucking Milkovich_ into the air.  Jessica was a bit of a ditz, but she was by no means stupid.  She caught the drift of both Ian and Sanai’s eyes as they landed on Mickey’s empty bed in chorus, the obviousness too big to cover up.  Jessica’s jaw dropped as she put two and two together.

“Holy shit!” she screamed.  “Mickey?!”

“Didn’t say that,” Ian pushed back. 

“Bullshit.  Don’t play dumb with me Ian,” Jessica began as she stood from the bed.  “It couldn’t have been Milo – he was in Boston.  And if my memory serves me right, you two weren’t speaking before break.”  She let out a laugh, the light bulb above her head going off.  “Mickey’s from Chicago…oh shit…it all makes sense now.  I knew he kept rejecting me for a reason.  And you,” Jessica continued to babble as she turned her attention towards Sanai, “you sneaky bitch, you knew!”  She laughed again, running her hands through her thick blonde hair.  “How did I not catch this?”

“You can’t say anything,” Ian said, the look on his face serious.  “Too many people know as it is.”

“Oh don’t worry, his secret’s safe with me.  I’m actually relieved he doesn’t think I’m an ogre.”

“Oh, he does,” Ian assured her.  “But it’s only because you don’t have a dick.”

Jessica frowned, her eyebrows furrowing before softening back as she let out a huge snort.  “Makes sense.”  She sat back on Ian’s bed, lining her back against the headboard.  She turned to look at him, her eyes suddenly serious and endearing the way Sanai’s were when she first allowed Ian to confide in her.  “How long?”

Normally, Ian wasn’t one for probing, but he could tell Jessica meant no harm.  “Just since Christmas Eve, at least physically, but it was obvious by Thanksgiving.  In fact – “ Ian stopped mid-sentence as he picked at his own brain.  “Looking back, I think we’ve both always known about each other, even as early as the airport.  I mean, it was something about him I felt so drawn to.  It was magnetic.  And I’m pretty sure he felt the same thing,” Ian reminisced.  Jessica let out a heavy sigh.

“Fate,” she said softly.

“What?” Ian and Sanai responded at the same time.

“Oh please,” Jessica started as she brought her hand to her heart.  “Fate…love at first sight?  Don’t judge me, I’m a hopeless romantic.”  While Ian was certain she had lost her mind, he couldn’t help but wonder about the validity of her statement.  Something tugged at his chest as she spoke.  _Something._ And Ian didn’t want to name that something, the admittance of such a feeling something he wasn’t ready for, but was certain would inevitably be revealed.

“Whatever,” Ian said, casually brushing her off.  But it’s impossible to brush something off that so readily sticks to your skin.

“You know spring break starts next week,” Jessica beamed as she grinned at Ian.

“So.” he answered nonchalantly.

“So…are you going home to Chicago?”  The thought of spring break and how he might spend it hadn’t dawned on Ian.  He was too wrapped up in trying to keep his focus, which he failed to do.  Shit, he hadn’t even thought about purchasing a plane ticket.  So it seemed the decision was already made for him – he would stay on campus.  Besides Ezra over the weeks, no one really called to see if he was coming.  There was no way he was going home anyway, the temptation to see how Mickey was faring being in such close proximity, sure to reel him in.  And he didn’t have the pain tolerance for yet another hook caught in his mouth.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ian assured.  “I’ll be right here.  Maybe I’ll work the Health Center over spring break.  I know they could use the help.”

“Aw c’mon Ian!” Sanai barked.  “You can’t stay here alone.  I’m sure your _family_ would love to see you,” she said with a wink.

“They’ll be able to see me the whole summer.  What’s six more weeks of waiting?”  Ian knew it wasn’t his family she was referring to; nevertheless he opted to play along.

“Denial,” Sanai responded as she stood.  Ian was caught off guard by her comment, the word delayed, hitting him like a ton of bricks when it finally sank in. 

“I’m not…”  Ian trailed off before finishing his thought, suddenly feeling more drained than usual.  “Look, I’ll be here.  End of story.”

“So what _is_ the story?” Jessica asked.  Jesus, these two were persistent.  Ian rested his chin in his hand, resigning to the fact that this conversation wouldn’t end until he gave them what they wanted.  He felt something snap inside of him, things loosening and bleeding out before he could stop it.

“The story?” Ian began as he stood.  “What – the story of how Mickey is from the Southside, born, bred and raised…has been in the closet all his life because he’s the son of a homophobic father who nearly killed us both when he caught us over winter break?  The story of how he refused to come back this semester and how I somehow feel responsible?  That story?  Because there’s more ya know, but it’s private and I swore to him I would never share.  But just know the moment he shared it with me, he got into my skin and now he’s trapped there.  And no matter how many times I scrub away at him in the shower, he just sinks into my pores _that much deeper_.”  Ian’s tongue slipped, letting loose heavy words which fell quickly to the floor where they lingered around his ankles as he paced back and forth.  Jessica and Sanai remained silent, acknowledging the fact that he no longer wanted to talk about the topic at hand.

End of discussion.

“Shall we call it a wrap?”  Sanai’s question wasn’t meant for an answer, rather, it was meant for action.  She and Jessica gathered their books as they packed and prepared to leave.  We’ll catch up later,” she said as she reached up and squeezed Ian’s shoulder.  He gave her a nod, his face now staring through the bay window.  The two girls exited the dorm room, the sound the door made as it closed echoing off the walls of a room once occupied by two. 

~~~

“Do I need to come out there?”

Ian let out a long sigh, too long, sending the message to his best friend on the other end of the line that he was fine and didn’t need anyone babysitting him.  Sure, he’d nearly died through midterms, but mentally he was fine – and relieved actually.  He’d finally get some much needed down time away from everyone.  Ian was the type of person who needed to be alone sometimes, and if there were ever a time he truly needed the solitude, it was now.  He could practically hear Ezra scowling through the phone at his decision to stay away from home, or “run” as he was now calling it.

“Not this shit again Ez, please,” Ian exhaled.  He had just gotten back from the gym, the adrenaline clearing his mind the way he needed it to.  But now he was being confronted about his decisions, as usual, and his mind was far too fragile for an argument. 

“This shit?” Ez asked incredulous.  “Ian are you serious right now?  After everything that has happened over the past couple of months, wouldn’t you want to come home?

Ian rubbed his eyes as he thought about the place deemed as such.  He couldn’t go back – not now.  It was too soon.  “I’ve decided to work the Health Center over spring break,” Ian deflected. 

“So that’s your excuse?”  Ezra was challenging him now, something he always did when he knew Ian was waddling in bullshit.  “Fine, whatever.  I’m buying a plane ticket out there.”

“No you’re not,” Ian snapped.  “Look, I won’t be alone.  I’m not the only student choosing to stay on campus, and I’ll be working anyway.”

“Always running.”  Ezra’s voice was far away in Ian’s ears as he said this.  He wasn’t running, he wasn’t – at least not from home.  Ian’s silence must have made Ezra uncomfortable, the clearing of his throat indicative of the awkward quiet getting to him.  “Look, I won’t badger.  Just…keep in touch this week alright?  I know there’s the summer to look forward to, so I’m letting you off the hook.”

Ian breathed heavily in relief at his best friend’s ability to understand him when he needed it most.  Otherwise, he would just be getting thoroughly annoyed at his persistence – a trait he noticed all too well because he himself had more than enough of it.  “I will.”  His best friend hung up with a dry _“goodbye.”_  

Ian swallowed hard, his throat waterless.  His mind was racing at a thousand miles per minute, the onslaught of thoughts making him uneasy.  He opened his drawer and pulled out the pill bottle he hadn’t touched since before Thanksgiving.  His fingers gripped the bottle, the familiar rattle of the pills inside making him feel worse.  Just as he was about to cave and open the prescription, his eyes landed on the rose-colored paperback book still in his drawer, the cursive writing written across the front jumping out at him.  He exchanged the pills for the literature that had always been near and dear to him.  _Romeo and Juliet_. 

He thought about Sanai’s question last week, and laughed at the fact that he was even entertaining the thought. 

_“And I wonder who’s Romeo,” she said as she looked caringly at him._

What complete and utter bullshit.  In fact, Ian was beginning to feel surrounded by it.  There was no way his life could be compared to such a story.  It all ended badly anyway.  He flipped through the pages quickly before throwing the book back into the drawer.  His phone began to ring, his eyebrows crinkling as he automatically assumed it to e Ezra, _again._   Except – it wasn’t.  Ian answered the phone with near desperation, the voice on the other end of the line bringing a small smile to his lips.

“Hey,” he answered, trying not to sound too anxious.

“Hey,” Mandy said back.  It wasn’t Mickey, but the only time Mandy ever spoke to Ian was when he called, so he considered this a good thing.  “Look, I don’t mean to bother you, and I know I’ve been distant lately, but I didn’t know who else to call.”  Her voice was weak and shaky, the worry apparent, even through the phone. 

Ian felt a knot beginning to form in his stomach.  He already knew who this call was about without her needing to elaborate.  He could _hear_ it.  “It’s fine Mandy.  Something wrong?”

“It’s Mickey,” she began before letting out a shaky breath.  “Well, it’s a few things.”

Ian felt his chest tighten at the sound of Mickey’s name.  He knew what Mandy was about to tell him couldn’t be good.  “What is it Mandy?  Is he ok?”  Now Ian didn’t care if he did sound desperate.  At this point, all he needed was to know that Mickey was alive.

“I don’t know,” Mandy said as she sniffled.  She was crying.  “He didn’t come home last night and he’s not answering my calls or text messages.  I think he bailed after I told him the news.”

“What news?  You need to elaborate Mandy,” Ian said almost frantically.  His heart was pounding in his ears and he was certain he’d pass out if it didn’t slow the fuck down.

“Our dad, he – “

A few loud knocks interrupted their conversation, causing Ian to practically jump off of his bed.  Now Ian’s heart was in his throat.  Who the fuck was it at his door?  Everyone he knew had gone home already.  Maybe it was the RA making his rounds.  “Hold that thought Mandy.  Someone’s at my door.”  He could hear Mandy mumble a very low “ok” as he made his way to the door.  Whoever the surprise guest was impatient because a few more loud knocks wrapped on the wood.  Apparently Ian wasn’t moving fast enough.  “I’m coming!” Ian barked out as he swung the door open. 

He was certain he’d died for a split second as his heart literally stopped beating for a moment, before picking back up.  And just that quickly, Ian forgot Mandy was on the other end of the phone he clenched it so tightly in his hand, his nails dug into his palm.  He could hear her yelling, _“Hello?  Hello?”_ multiple times, but it didn’t register with him to respond.

“Took you long enough,” Mickey said mockingly.  Ian found himself almost reaching his hand out, ready to poke the boy standing in front of him to assure himself he wasn’t a ghost.  The red head didn’t respond, only letting out a small noise from his lips that was something between a mumble and a small squeal.  The older boy sauntered past a stunned Ian, tossing the two duffle bags on his back to the floor.  He must have noticed Mandy’s name on the screen of his iPhone, or heard her yelling more than likely, as he took the phone out of his hand.  “Mandy it’s me, calm down,” he said into the receiver.  All Ian could hear was more of her hysterical yelling on the other end of the line, only catching a few words like, “Fuck,” “crazy,” and “pissed off.”  Mickey folded his arms as he argued for a few more minutes with his very angry sister.  “Alright, alright!  I’ll call you later, k?”

When he turned around, Ian was sitting cautiously on the edge of his bed, a confused look on his face.  Mickey walked slowly over to him, before sitting on the opposite end of the foot.  He tossed him his phone, which landed in his lap.  The two boys sat silent for what seemed like an eternity, questions lingering behind Ian’s eyes and the answers waiting behind Mickey’s.  The older boy’s head was slightly lowered, his teeth abusing his bottom lip.  After what felt like enough time had passed, Mickey spoke first.

“I know you have questions,” he began to speak as he finally looked at Ian.  “So I’ll answer whatever ones you ask.  But you need to know my actions were for good reasons – well _one_ reason really.”  His blue eyes searched Ian’s nervously, looking for any sign of approval or forgiveness.  He was simply met by a blank stare.

Ian swallowed the large lump that had formed in his throat.  “How’d you get here?”

“Took a red-eye,” Mickey answered, now looking away.

“Why’d you come back?”

“What I had to take care of, I took care of.”  Mickey’s answer was far too nonchalant and not the one Ian was hoping for.  His face fell in disappointment.

“You didn’t have to ignore me ya know,” Ian said lowly, the hurt apparent in his voice.  Mickey’s body shifted uncomfortably on the bed, the sound of his voice making him uneasy.

“I wasn’t.”

“Then what was it?” Ian asked. 

“I was pro…” Mickey trailed off before jumping to his feet.  “Forget it,” he huffed as he walked over towards the bay window.

“No, you don’t get to do that,” Ian replied as he followed close behind.  “You said you’d answer whatever I asked.  You owe me that much.”  The look in the younger boy’s eyes always seemed to break through the walls Mickey managed to build around himself.  They’d demolished more than he could count at his point – so what was one more?

Mickey let out a deep sigh, his gaze fixed on the city beyond the window.  “I was protecting you, alright?”  When he didn’t hear Ian respond, he turned his head slowly towards him, afraid he’d be met by a glower.  Instead, he was met by a look he’d never seen on Ian’s face before.  It made him feel like he couldn’t breathe.  He turned his head away again, too afraid to hold eye contact.

Ian knew he was pushing it when he curled his fingers around Mickey’s wrist before they slowly made their way into a tangled mess with his.  He felt him tense up at first, before relaxing into the touch, his fingers tightening around Ian’s.  So the younger boy pulled him towards him until they were close enough for their foreheads to touch.  Ian knew there was more to the story, but he’d get the details later.  Instead he gently brushed his thumb across Mickey’s cheek before closing the distance between their lips.

~~~

_Mandy felt like she couldn’t catch her breath as she barged into Mickey’s room._

_“Knock much?” Mickey scoffed at his sister.  The look in her eyes was wild.  Mickey sat up when he noticed how on edge she was.  “The fuck happened?”_

_“It’s dad,” she said through a mouthful of air._

_“What about him?” Mickey asked anxiously.  He stood and walked towards her.  The look on her face told him she wasn’t upset, but more shocked._

_“Iggy just got the news,” she started through a quick breath, “that a gang of prisoners nearly beat him to death after he shanked someone who got in his face, accusing him of some serious shit.”_

_“What?” Mickey said in false surprise._

_“Yeah.  Now the guy he stabbed is dead, and he apparently has a hit on him in prison now.  He’ll get life for this.”_

_“Alright, calm down.  Go call Nicky and Colin, make sure they know,” he ordered his sister.  She nodded and left his room immediately.  At the sound of his door closing, Mickey immediately began to pack his bags, a satisfied smile on his face.  Everything happened right on schedule.  He checked the receipt for the red-eye plane ticket he’d purchased._

_Later he told Mandy he was going out, leaving the house with his bags before she noticed them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter was inspired (for the most part) by the song, "Romeo" by Until the Ribbon Breaks. Aside from being completely obsessed with this group, the song went perfectly with the ideas I was getting for this chapter. I love Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, and found quite a few parallels between Ian and Mickey (obviously this isn't an English paper, so I couldn't analyze too deeply lol), but I found Mickey to have characteristics similar to Romeo, and Ian to Juliet. The line "You see I would have killed Romeo, and saved Juliet," in the song so stuck out to me, so I ran with it. Although Mickey obviously does not die, the whole premise here, is that he has to save Ian, despite the danger behind it - he's willing to go into enemy territory to do it, just as Romeo did for Juliet. Gosh I hope this makes sense, but you get my drift!
> 
> Sadly, after this, there may be about two more chapters. I feel like I will have told the story at that point, unless you all tell me to continue, and maybe I will - or I'll make it a series. As usual, thanks for reading, and I hope you all enjoyed. A lot going on in this chapter! :)


	15. Fucked Up Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The older boy closed his eyes, and wondered if it was possible for shit to hit two fans at once. He looked over at Ian, their fucked up situations answering his question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took sooooo long. This fic always takes me the longest to update, so I hope it is worth the wait! I'm super anal about it sometimes haha. But I'm almost done with "Kaleidoscopes and Mirrors" which means I can dedicate a lot more time to this fic until it's finished. As usual, it's a lengthy chapter, and Possessive!Ian may have happened here a bit, but you'll see why. The club mentioned is totally fabricated and a result of my imagination. Hope you like. :)

_Looking her in the eyes was harder than he had imagined.  That’s what lying did to an individual for him – made their eyes unclean, the supposed caring gaze nothing but a filthy ploy to cover up what they chose to hide.  “Did you ever love me?”  Ian’s words rang clear as they fell upon Monica’s ears, and there was no denying that she had hurt her son.  She was his mother, but had fallen too short to make up for what she’d done._

_“I’ve always loved you,” she sobbed through the words, “you’re my son.”  And there it was.  He was her son, her child – her little secret.  “I can’t take back what I did, but please don’t ever doubt how much you mean to me.”_

_Ian’s eyes carried slowly over her face.  He saw the tears, the trembling of her lips, but her eyes didn’t seem sincere to him.  Even the way the cuts healed on her wrists didn’t seem honest, the precision of the lines straighter than her outward show of emotion, but just as deceitful.  Maybe she was crashing, maybe it was the lithium, but they were empty regardless of the pain and apologies that should have been there.  Then it dawned on him that it was because she wasn’t completely honest with him.  “You said you didn’t want me when you found out you were pregnant with me.”_

_“Ian, honey I was upset – “_

_“Thing is,” Ian cut through her words, not allowing her to finish, “I kind of always knew.”  It didn’t make sense for him not to say he’d always realized he was different than his other siblings – less acknowledged, less wanted.  Maybe he was exaggerating, nevertheless the damage was done._

_Monica brought her hands up to her lips, the tears flowing harder down her cheeks as she shook her head.  “I’m so sorry,” she said through shaky breaths, “I was…I am so messed up.”  And it wasn’t just the bipolar disorder, but the drugs as well.  She wrapped her arms around herself, the shame burgeoning in her chest and stomach – she needed to hold herself together as best she could.  “Please don’t tell me I’m the reason why you did it.”_

_Ian shook his head ‘no’ as he turned away from her.  As he sat on the side of his bed, the walls of his room seemed to close in on him.  He didn’t want to answer the question of ‘why’ because how he’d tried to take his life was bad enough.  He felt his thoughts disconnecting and burning in his mind, everything melting together until only a glob of dejection remained.  “It seems,” he said lowly as he turned to face his mother, “no one wants a troubled boy.”_

_Monica didn’t respond.  She couldn’t.  Instead, she sobbed harder as she walked out of his room, leaving Ian to wonder why she hadn’t fought for him.  Why she hadn’t come clean._

_Maybe he was too fucked up to deserve truthfulness, or someone to fight for him – even honest love._

_~~~_

“I have all night,” Ian ghosted his lips over Mickey’s as he spoke, the heat from his mouth making the older boy clench around him.

Mickey shivered, the sensation traveling from his neck and shoulders down his spine and into his thighs he had wrapped tightly around the small of Ian’s back as he thrust slowly into him.  “You’re why,” he mouthed into Ian’s ear.

Ian smiled into Mickey’s neck as he licked and sucked, leaving a trail of hickeys that lead to his collarbone.  The red head jabbed into his roommate with a force that sent a shock of electricity through his entire body as he hit his prostate, the sudden move silently screaming _tell me how you really feel, tell me everything_ inside of him.  Mickey gasped and moaned loudly.  It was only the second time they were together in this way, but the passion was ten times stronger than expected – the questions lingering much heavier.  The first time, it was a matter of whether or not Mickey had wanted to take that step, if he was ready.  Now, it was a call and response of not just why he’d chosen to stay back in Chicago, but why he unexpectedly came back, the details,and if they were really going to do _this_.

“Tell me everything,” Ian finally said through a half moan into Mickey’s mouth.  He took his time as he moved in and out of the older boy with a rough gentleness that made him turn boneless underneath him.  The way they tore their clothes off was far too rushed for the way he wanted him on this moment, so taking things slowly was more than important, it was _needed_.  Mickey’s nails dug into his back with each of his thrusts which were all precisely aimed at his sweet spot.  He shook his head ‘yes,’ unable to speak, as he took Ian’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting down onto the flesh, drawing blood.

But Ian didn’t mind the pain.

He picked up speed, feeling Mickey’s orgasm building as the muscles in his body tensed and he tightened even more around his dick.  Ian knew he was on the verge of crying out, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down furiously as he swallowed hard trying to suppress his moans.  The red head licked his tongue into his mouth just as he reached his hand down, pumping him furiously.  Mickey came a moment later, this time biting down on Ian’s tongue as he practically whimpered into his mouth, ribbons of semen shooting out between them.  It didn’t take long for Ian to climax afterwards, the actual _bite_ sending him over the edge as his fingers gripped tightly at strands of black hair. 

He enjoyed this type of pain because it was different from the kind that always plagued his mind.

Ian remained still as he lay on top of Mickey, not yet pulling out as he softened inside him.  He could feel the older boy’s chest begin to shake as he laughed, his hands rubbing the small of his back, his fingertips spreading around the sweat that had gathered there.  “What’s so funny?” Ian asked as he looked down at Mickey.

His blue eyes landed on Ian’s lips as he smiled lazily, his pupils still blown and his hairs sticking to his forehead.  “I think I got carried away with the biting.”  He ran his thumb across the tiny amount of blood that gathered on Ian’s bottom lip.

“I don’t mind,” Ian said as he finally lifted off of his roommate, lying on his side next to him.

“Bet you didn’t,” Mickey chuckled, “you’re a masochist.”

“We both are.”

The two boys snickered as they lay covered in each other’s scent.  Mickey remained on his back, the slight crinkles that formed in the corners of his eyes whenever he laughed making Ian want to jump his bones all over again.  Instead, he threw his arm over Mickey’s waist, causing him to initially flinch from the contact, before relaxing back into the twin mattress.  His face then grew serious as he focused his blue eyes up at the dorm room ceiling.  He arbitrarily counted the many water spots that were up there, wondering if the tears cried in the room caused a ripple effect.  Walls and even ceilings to him were never exempt from the things that happened to the people inside and underneath them.  “It was you,” he said quietly.  “You’re the reason I stayed back in Chicago these past few months.”

Ian knitted his eyebrows together as he studied the way Mickey chewed his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving the ceiling.  He wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by him being the reason he didn’t come back right away.  If it weren’t for the sweat from his roommate’s body that covered his own, he would have felt some sort of rejection; an emotion he was far too used to.  But Ian knew when someone was hiding something.  It was something he’d learned to pinpoint all too well from the many years he spent _being_ what was hidden.  “It’s more than that, isn’t it?” 

Ian’s question caused Mickey to remove his arm from around his waist as he maneuvered to sit on the side of the small twin bed, grabbing his boxers off of the floor.  He stood and swiftly put them on before slipping on Ian’s t-shirt as if it was his own.  He patted down his jeans that were hanging over Ian’s desk chair, finding the pack of cigarettes that were hiding in there before scooping up the lighter and making his way to their usual smoking post by the bay window. 

“You really do smoke too much,” Ian offered.

Mickey let out a huge snort.  He was one to speak.  “Says the guy who keeps a lighter in his book bag, desk, and jacket,” Mickey countered.  “Oh, and let’s not forget the book of emergency matches you keep in your wallet.  Yeah, I smoke too much.” 

Ian laughed because Mickey was right.  _They_ smoked too much, and those lighters were like his safety blankets.  “Birds of a feather,” Ian said as he sat up.  “We even share our habits.”  But it was more than a thing of habit – it was ritualistic, cathartic in a way.  Too often they stood here, smoking out the things they inhaled, Mickey from the shitty streets of the Southside, and Ian from the synthesized surfaces of the Northside.  They were desperate to exhale the dirt, regret and pain that lingered in their lungs.  The probability of cancer couldn’t hold a candle to the things they’d already breathed in.  Ian slid out of the bed with the notions of smoke filled lungs in his head, slipping on a pair of shorts before walking over towards his roommate.

Mickey didn’t flinch when he suddenly felt his chest press flush again his back.  There was a slight breeze coming through the open window, the scents of the New York City air something he didn’t think he would miss, but he did.  Perhaps it was because it wasn’t home, or maybe it was because it reminded him of Ian – reminded him of the things _in this room_.  Ian leaned more into him as he spoke lowly behind him.  “What happened?” he asked somewhat cautiously.  Mickey rested his head briefly on the red head’s shoulder before snapping his neck forward.  He disconnected their bodies before maneuvering to lean against the windowsill. 

“My dad almost killed me that night,” Mickey began, looking outside, “tried to kill you.”  Ian frowned slightly as he made his way to lean against the opposite side, unsure of why his roommate was choosing to bring this up.  He didn’t offer his two cents right away, the feeling that something was slowly working itself loose inside of him for the past few days something he didn’t want to exacerbate from speaking on the topic Mickey chose.  He hoped that they would’ve been beyond that dreadful night, but it was obvious Mickey still had his lingering reservations. 

“You don’t have to talk about this,” Ian finally said as he studied Mickey’s worried face, “your dad’s in jail now and can’t do anything to you.”  The older boy shook his head, the look in his eyes silently communicating _how naïve can you be_ as he finally looked at Ian.

“You don’t know my dad.  The bastard knows how to hold a fucking grudge and would’ve come for the both of us the moment he got out.”  Mickey snuffed out his cigarette, turning so he was now fully facing Ian.  “We would’ve been living on borrowed time.”

“Would have?”

“Yeah, _would have_ ,” Mickey stated as he tugged aimlessly at the bottom of Ian’s shirt, “but it isn’t an issue anymore.”

Ian’s mind raced as he thought.  Aside from his near death experience with the brute and what little information Mickey shared with him, he didn’t know Terry Milkovich from a can of paint.  But, he knew the sound of admittance when he heard it, and Mickey was admitting something.  “Something happen to him?”  He thought to himself after asking Mickey this, because Terry was locked up, so the probability of Mickey being the one to inflict harm was slim to none – although, the rationale didn’t stop the thought from crossing his mind.

“Guess you can say that.”  Mickey chewed nervously on his bottom lip as he eyed Ian up and down.  “Let’s just say he ain’t ever gettin’ out.”

“He’s in for life now or something?”  Ian was somewhat taken aback.

“Yeah,” Mickey began as he stood up straight, walking towards Ian, “but that sonofabitch deserves multiple life sentences.  Even then, that wouldn’t nearly make up for the ones he’s either taken or fucked up for good.  He doesn’t even deserve death because that,” Mickey said, now less than a foot away from Ian, “would be too fucking easy.”  The inmate Terry shanked was merely a casualty in the midst of it all.  But his children had always been prey, taken by a predator and rendered helpless whenever he attacked.  Mickey happened to be the lucky one who got a double dose, and now one predator was behind bars to rot, and the other in a steel and fiery grave.

Mickey had continued to inch closer to Ian as he spoke, not realizing how angry he was getting all over again.  He didn’t know why he felt the need to close the distance between them.  Perhaps it was because he always felt fucked for life, but something in Ian’s eyes always managed to assure him that he was not – they alluded to chances he never had which now all seemed within arm’s length.  It was magnetic.  Mickey opened his mouth to continue to tell the story, before snapping it shut again.  His words got caught in his throat, a lump forming over his vocal chords.  Ian’s eyes were accepting and supportive and fear suddenly crept into Mickey’s chest.  This was a new kind of fear, something he’d never experienced before.  It was the fear of actually being understood – even _loved_.

“I’m not capable,” Mickey let slip.  Ian knitted his eyebrows together in confusion.

“Capable of what?” he asked.  “Telling me the rest?”  Ian knew the devil was always in the details, and being that they’d both met him more than their fair share of times, he didn’t need his roommate to expound any further.  It was dark, and hell is hot.  “Mickey you don’t –“

“That’s not it,” Mickey cut Ian off.  “It’s not.”  He shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other. 

“It’s ok,” Ian responded.  And there it was again, tucked tight behind two shades of green that swirled together in a perfect set of eyes.  _Understanding_.  Ian’s eyes said it all and Mickey didn’t need to elaborate on anything further.  Nevertheless he opened his mouth to reveal what he’d realized back in Chicago, before sputtering out near gibberish at the feel of Ian’s fingers curling around his wrist, pulling him gently closer.

“I…um…I –“

Ian yanked Mickey forward, causing him to bite down on the words he was already fumbling over, knowing exactly where he was headed.  “You don’t have to tell me anything else,” the red head started as he placed his hands on Mickey’s lower back.  He felt the tension gathering there slowly loosen as a breath escaped Mickey’s lips.  “And for the record,” Ian began as he pressed their foreheads together, “I never thought I was capable either.”

And this time around, no one had to mention anything about _love_.

~~~

It’s like he blinked and Spring break was over.  Mickey had yet to even sleep in his own bed since he’d been back.  There was no need to.  Things happen when a connection is formed between two people and suddenly separates become one, and only half of what sustained two is needed.  Ian guessed wildly that this thing happening between him and Mickey was called – being _together._

However, he didn’t want to assume.  Assumptions could be dangerous for the heart – he knew this.

But as Ian got dressed for class, a sleeping Mickey in his bed, he thought about how they wore each other’s shirts now, ate out of the same Chinese food containers and made out on the bean bag just for the hell of it.  And it had only been a week.  He also thought about the way his roommate slept now, no longer choked by the hands of his dreams, but instead tangled in his arms.  Ian smiled at the way his eyes fluttered as he began to awaken.

“Morning,” Ian said as he crawled onto the bed, straddling the older boy.  Ian always found Mickey beautiful – just enough Southside edge with a charming gentleness even he didn’t know he had.  But the way his messy morning hair stuck up in different directions, his sleepy blue eyes picking up the hints of light in the room was far more beautiful than he’d ever seen him.

“Morning,” Mickey responded, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I have class in a half hour,” Ian began as he rubbed circles into Mickey’s chest with his thumbs, “but we can kill time until then.”  Ian made his eyebrows dance before leaning forward, pressing gentle kisses and bites into Mickey’s neck.

Mickey moaned as he brought his hands up to the small of Ian’s back, gripping the muscles there before bringing his palms to Ian’s chest, gently pushing him away.  “Nah, you know it won’t be thirty minutes.”  Ian rolled his eyes before smiling and rolling off of him.  “Besides, I need to get up and go to the Registrar’s office and try to get summer classes.”

“How are you gonna do that when you just left?” Ian asked confused.  “Isn’t your scholarship jeopardized now?”

“I didn’t just leave Gallagher,” Mickey said as he sat up, “I had Mandy call and explain my…accident…and I took a leave of absence.  So no, my scholarship isn’t jeopardized.”

Ian inwardly beamed at this, because this meant that Mickey _knew_ he was coming back.  Trying not to sound too much like a giddy schoolgirl, Ian played it cool, holding back his teeth trying to peel through his lips.  “Well then I’m lucky they didn’t replace you with another roommate.”

“I would’ve kicked their ass out anyways,” Mickey snorted and stood up from the bed, Ian marveling in his alabaster skin.  He was naked, no clothes covering the parts of him Ian was certain he’d navigated more than a few times.  The red head walked slowly over, knowing the decreased distance between them would be dangerous.  He gently reached out and squeezed Mickey’s ass before spinning him around.  He moved in, Mickey’s eyes already planted on his lips. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Mickey said seductively.  But they were saved by the bell so to speak, a loud string of bangs on their room door stopping them from getting into what would have certainly made Ian miss class and Mickey skip the registrar.  When they took too long to acknowledge, another round of offensive bangs were rapped upon their door.

“You’re already taking too long!” a familiar voice boomed.  “Let me in already!”  Mickey panicked at the sound of Sanai’s voice, scrambling to find the nearest pair of shorts, boxers, pants…it didn’t matter.  He quickly grabbed Ian’s shorts and methodically threw himself into his bed, which still only contained one sheet.  He ruffled the sheet, trying to make it look as if it had been slept in, but even an idiot could see it was staged.  Ian could only chuckle to himself as he made his way to open the door. 

He wasn’t surprised at Sanai’s hasty entrance accompanied by the death glare she shot him.  “Took you long enough fool,” she huffed as she plopped down on his bed.  Her huge curly fro bounced as she shook her head at Ian.  “For a minute there I thought you were…you know…in one of your funks or whatever.”

“I’m fine,” Ian responded.  He remembered a few weeks back when Sanai found him nearly incoherent one evening, an open pill bottle next to him after trying for the hundredth time to get in touch with Mickey.  He was feeling depressed and had taken more blue pills than he should have.  He flitted his eyes over to Mickey, more concerned with him hearing her talk about his mini breakdown than with Sanai noticing he was in the room.     

“Just checking babes,” she said endearingly.  “You know I’m always here to talk if…”  Sanai’s eyes widened as she trailed off, her eyes finally landing on Mickey who was pretending to be asleep.  Ian laughed inwardly because Mickey really went that route.  He found it almost painfully cute.  “Wait a minute…you’re back!?”

Mickey didn’t budge at the sound of Sanai’s question.  He knew she was talking to him, but his body was frozen and he refused to turn around, afraid she would see the string of hickeys down his neck and on his chest.  He wished he would have been smart enough to put on a shirt.  He could hear Ian start to laugh, and thought about how ridiculous he must look to his roommate right now.  But Mickey knew he was nowhere near ready for anyone to know about him and Ian.

Sanai shot Ian a knowing look, before looking back at Mickey.  Ian knew she was too observant for her own good and rarely held her tongue when she noticed things.  “You know Mickey,” she began as she stood, looking at belongings that didn’t belong to Ian, occupying his space, “all your shit is still on Ian’s side of the room.  Your bags, boots – and I’m pretty sure these are your pants in the floor right here.”  Ian widened his eyes at his friend for her to stop, but she was relentless, he knew this, her intentions to be quiet anything but.  “You know Ian here, he’s rather particular.  He’d never leave his pants in the floor.  My baby here is too neat for that.”

The older boy cringed and cursed inwardly at himself.  _His shit_.  He didn’t even think to move it over to his side over the past week.  Then again, it was hard to think about anything other than the way Ian’s mouth felt on him and how he managed to prove to him that his body could be put in angles he didn’t think were physically possible.  Still, he didn’t move and remained silent despite him being made.

“Mickey,” Sanai said.  “Come on I know you’re not sleep.  Mi – “

“Christ!” Mickey finally yelled as he sat up.  “Alright already!  So I’m not sleep.  Anything else?”

“No,” Sanai responded satisfied as she sat back down on Ian’s bed, “looks like you’ve gotten plenty.”  She tilted her head to the side as she studied the hickeys in his skin, a grin on her face.  “You certainly know how to mark ‘em Ian.”

Ian felt himself sink at the mortified look that spread over Mickey’s face.  He wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or angry or nervous.  The older boy finally stood, bringing his hands up to his chest almost as if he were a topless female trying to hide her goods.  The way he looked was almost hilarious.  “She knows?” he asked Ian.  He didn’t need an answer from the way the red head looked away from him, Sanai’s knowing look the cherry on top of this fucked up sundae. 

“Yeah,” Ian responded lowly.  And since that cat was out the bag, he figured he may as well let the rest of them out.  “And so does Jessica…but they both totally figured it out on their own Mick.”  Ian didn’t look back at Mickey, certain for sure that he had chased him away, again.  He knew this was a hard pill for his roommate to swallow.  He could hear feet shuffling as Mickey made his way over to him.  When he felt the heat of his body close to his, Ian finally turned around, the older boy a foot away from him.

“Anyone else know?”

“No,” Ian sighed.  But then another thought crossed his mind as the wheels in his head turned.  _Milo_.  While he never came out and said it, Milo knew Ian had a thing for Mickey and always had a sneaking suspicion about the two of them.  “Well…” Ian trailed off as he looked nervously at Mickey.  The older boy let out a long sigh, knowing that Ian wasn’t finished.  He may as well wear a rainbow flag on his forehead for everyone to see now.

When Ian took too long to continue, Mickey raised his eyebrows upwards.  “Well?”

“Milo’s always had his suspicions about us, but I haven’t spoken to him since before Winter break,” Ian offered.

“So does everyone fucking know?”  Mickey felt himself getting upset, his personal life something he was never comfortable with anyone knowing too much about.  It was even a struggle knowing his own sister knew these things about him.

“No one gives a shit who you bang Mickey,” Sanai interjected.  Both boys looked at the brown skinned girl, who was leaning back on Ian’s bed, propped up on her elbows with an unimpressed look on her face.  She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.  They should’ve both known by now that her filters only worked forty percent of the time.  “You know how many guys _and_ girls would love to get a piece of that ginger snap there?  You’re a lucky dude if you ask me.”

 _Lucky_.  That wasn’t a word that was associated with Mickey often.  It didn’t feel right being called such, because he was the poster child for being unlucky and fucked for life.  He glanced at Ian who was now sporting a nice shade of blush across his cheeks.  Trying not to turn to mush from the way his cheeks turned red, Mickey simply scoffed before making his way over to his belongings, rummaging through them to find a shirt.  He shot Sanai a suspicious glance as he threw on a tank top.  “Just don’t go spreadin’ this shit around.”

“Your secret is safe with me, ok?” she assured him.  “But I did have an idea.”

Ian groaned because Sanai having an idea meant trouble.  “We’re gonna be late for class.  Let’s go, we can talk about this later,” Ian pressed as he tried to rush his friend out of the room.

“Wait a minute!” she retorted as she put on breaks.  “Don’t you at least wanna hear what I have to say?”

“Don’t we always?” Mickey snorted sarcastically.

Sanai placed her hands on her hips as she pursed her glossy lips, giving Mickey the stare down of his life that gave Mandy’s glares a run for their money.  She reminded him so much of his sister – pushy, outspoken, intuitive, no-shit-taking…and pushy.  She was an African American version of a badass Milkovich bitch for sure and all Mickey could do was respect that about her.  Iggy would love this girl.  “Anyways,” she huffed.  “What I was thinking, is that we could take Mickey here out tonight to _that_ club,” she said smiling mischievously at Ian.  “What better way to, ya know, welcome him back?”

He didn’t even have to ask her what club she was talking about, immediately knowing what she was referring to.  “No fucking way,” Ian responded.  “Are you serious?  No, no.”  Ian was shaking his head, because he knew Mickey wouldn’t be seen within a mile of a gay club. 

“C’mon Ian!  I bet Jessica would be down to go with us.”

“What club are you two talking about?” Mickey asked curiously. 

“It’s a gay club, and I know your answer is no,” Ian said quickly before trying to push Sanai out the door.

“It’s not just a gay club Mickey,” Sanai continued as she stretched out her legs and arms starfish style in front of the door, stopping Ian from pushing her out.  “It’s a gay friendly club and anyone can go there.  I’ve gone there with a bunch of my female friends before, and trust me, we’re all strictly dickly.”  Strictly dickly?  _Gah_.  Ian was beginning to get annoyed with his friend – and embarrassed for Mickey.  This girl really was a handful.  “We had a blast.  It’s called Candyland and it’s in the West Village.  You kind of have to know someone to get in, so it’s pretty exclusive and no one will know you there.”

“It’s Monday Sanai,” Ian said through continued losses of patience, “and we have class tomorrow. “

“I don’t have class until 4:30pm tomorrow and I know for a fact you don’t have class until 3:00pm.  And Jessica, that girl can party until four in the morning and get up for an 8:00am lecture, while being flawlessly picture perfect mind you.” 

“But won’t we get asked for ID?” Ian retorted, trying to look for every excuse in the book to kill the conversation.  “I mean, we have free roam at the Half Pint because of Kev, but this is an actual club in NYC.”

Sanai waived her hand, dismissing Ian.  “Oh please, boys like you are the bread and butter of places like this – keeps the old dudes coming and emptying their wallets.  You guys will have no issues, and as for me and Jessica – I’ve got us covered,” she continued to ramble on with her validations, “I may have…kind of messed around with the security guy…but that’s beside the point!  We’ll all be fine.”  Ian sighed, not really caring to argue with her anymore, because the girl had an answer for everything.  Besides, he knew Mickey was going to say no anyway.

“I’ll go,” Mickey responded.  Ian’s jaw dropped while Sanai let out a squealing noise.  He was shocked his roommate even agreed.

And quite frankly, Mickey was shocked too.  But while he weighed the pros and cons of going to a place he wouldn’t be caught dead in, he thought, _fuck it_.  He was no longer in the vice grip of his father, so why not take advantage of that.

~~~

Ian stepped out of his last class, actually somewhat excited about the night ahead.  After the shock of Mickey agreeing to actually go had worn off, all he could think about was getting his kind-of-boyfriend drunk and moving their sexual proclivities to Mickey’s bed.  A christening was long overdue, as Ian’s bed was baptized enough to save his soul until graduation. 

What sins he’d planned on committing tonight.

He opened his phone to check for any missed messages.  There was one from Jessica and two from Mickey.

_[ **Jess 4:10pm:** Just spoke with Sanai…I’m down 4 2nite.  Don’t back out beeotch! :-P]_

_[ **Mick 5:15pm:** I kno ur in class, but just wanted 2 tell u igot my summer classes]_

_[ **Mick 5:47pm:** Got pizza so you dnt have 2 get food on ur way back]_

Ian felt butterflies in his stomach reading these two exceptionally ordinary text messages from Mickey.  He knew they had yet to have “the talk” about what they were, not that labels were that important to him, but he couldn’t help but feel like they were turning into a dorky couple, slowly but surely.

In the midst of his giddiness, he also noticed three missed phone calls from an unknown number.  He rarely got calls from numbers he didn’t recognize, so he found this odd.  A strange feeling crept into the back of his neck, settling in the form of tension as he thought, not really knowing why this same number called him multiple times.  The short span of time between the three calls, each approximately five minutes apart, told him there was a possible urgency behind them.  He began to get worried, thinking that maybe something was wrong with Fiona and the baby, before dismissing the thought.  A family member certainly would have called him from their own phone, and if it were truly urgent, they would have left a voicemail.   

Not trying to dwell on the mystery behind the calls, Ian decided to shoot Mickey a text back.

_[ **Gallagher 6:02pm:**  Hey Mick, on my way back. Thnx 4 the food]_

He smiled as he hit the send button.  He shoved his phone back into his pocket and began to walk back to his dorm room, but before he could even remove his hand out of his pocket, he felt his phone buzz.  Already feeling the slight inclination that this was the mystery number calling him, Ian removed his phone out of his pocket and held it up to examine who was calling. 

It was the same number.

“Hello?” he answered hesitantly.  Ian nearly dropped his phone as he felt his heart drop into his stomach at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line.

~~~

If only stepping foot into Candyland would have been as easy as agreeing to come to the place. 

Mickey’s feet turned into cinderblocks as they entered the nightclub, his heart picking up speed as tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead.  Once the posh security guard, dressed like a Men In Black body double, had quit his flirting with Sanai and let them through the front door, the immediate surroundings seemed harmless enough.  In fact, it didn’t look like a club right off the bat, the loud music clearly banging off of the marbled walls, but wild lights and a dance floor nowhere to be seen.  There was a bar to the left, and cocktail tables to the right.  Connected to the bar was a full-on bakery with more sweets Mickey had ever seen in his life.  _How fitting._  

With a quick glance he saw mini chocolate cakes, red velvet cakes, cupcakes of all different flavors with ridiculously colorful designs, cake lollipops, giant swirled lollipops, caramels and so many other goodies that made his mouth water – but not more than the way Ian’s fitted blue shirt clung to his muscles did.  It was a travesty really, because despite looking edible, Ian was acting slightly _off_.  He could tell the red head was a bit agitated when he arrived back at the dorm earlier, his eyebrows in a frown and his movements quite erratic.  When he barely ate any food, Mickey had asked him what was wrong, only for him to say he was fine before changing the subject.  Ian was trying his best to act as if everything was cool, but Mickey knew something was bothering him.

“This way guys!” Sanai barked at them.  Jessica was following close behind her, the two boys on their heels.  After walking through the bar/bakery area, the foursome came to a small foyer.  There were two thick black curtains hanging over an entrance through which Mickey could see colorful lights streaming through the tiny slit.  He began to tug nervously on his black button-up, only for Ian to grab his hand and smile at him.  Although he meant well, trying to calm him, Mickey could tell the smile was forced.

Ian knew he wasn’t acting one hundred percent himself and must have caught on to the look in Mickey’s eyes.  “C’mon, I’m fine Mick,” he assured him.  And he knew after a few rounds of shots, he would be.  The worried lines in Mickey’s face finally relaxed as they made their way through the black curtains. 

Strobe lights.  Diamonds in the floor.  Model-esque men in perfectly fitting jeans.  Androgynous girls who looked like cute boys.  Men in short shorts dancing in cages.  Guys making out with guys.  Girls making out with girls.  It was all a bit much for Mickey to absorb as they made their way into the main club area.  He began to feel uncomfortable, following Ian and the girls through the crowd as they made their way to the main bar.  But it was as if Ian was in tune to the way he was feeling, because just as the older boy was about to say _fuck it_ , but for fleeing reasons this time, Ian turned around and grabbed Mickey by the hand as he led them through the mess of people.   And it’s a good thing he did, because just as he felt Ian’s fingers grip around his, a blonde guy eyed him up and down as he bit his bottom lip.  Ian saw this and yanked Mickey closer to him, quickly dipping down and placing a bite on his neck that clearly stated _mine_.

Mickey would’ve been lying through his teeth if he said that didn’t turn him on.

After the show of marking his territory, Ian’s eyes locked onto Mickey’s, and he could see there was a certain sadness behind his green eyes.  Ian quickly threw on a smile, but it was too late – Mickey already knew something was going on.  They finally made their way to the bar, Jessica and Sanai already ordering fruity cocktails.  Ian led Mickey to stand in front of him at the bar, immediately caging him in with his arms as he placed both of his hands on the bar.  The vibe his roommate was giving off was both possessive and odd, and it was exciting and alarming to Mickey at the same time.

Ian leaned in, purposely getting too close to his ear.  “What are you drinking?” he asked.  He remained close, his hot breath on Mickey’s earlobe practically driving him insane.

“Jack and coke,” Mickey responded, his voice cracking.  Ian made another possessive gesture, pressing his nose into his neck before pulling away.  He then waived his hand at the bartender to get his attention and ordered two Jack and cokes.

Once they received their drinks, Mickey was taken aback by how Ian immediately began to drink his down in near desperation.  He squinted his eyes at the red head.  It was certainly him, but for some reason he wasn’t acting like _him_.  Mickey glanced around to look for Jessica and Sanai, hoping that being around them would make things a little less awkward, but the two girls were already in the middle of the dance floor, drinks in hand as they danced and grinded all over each other.  Great – now they were lesbians for the night and clearly not even thinking about him and Ian.

Mickey turned back to the bar in time enough to see Ian ordering two shots.  “You wanna take it easy?” he asked as he leaned in towards Ian’s face.  The younger boy raised a brow, tilted his head back as he downed the first shot, before looking back at Mickey, simultaneously looping his finger through a belt loop on his jeans.

“Uh uh,” he protested before picking up the other shot and downing it.  He was clearly on a mission to get wasted.  Mickey didn’t know what it was, but he knew when someone was trying to drown out something they didn’t want to think about with alcohol.  He himself had done it more times than he cared to admit.  He was about to say something else to Ian, but was interrupted by the red head letting out a yelp at some song that just started playing.  “I love this song!” he shouted as he tilted his head back.  He then bought his head back down, his eyes hooded and lustful.  “Dance with me.”

Mickey cringed at the request because he didn’t dance.  But before he could make any protests, Ian was already pulling him by his belt loops to the dance floor.  Mickey quickly downed his drink, slamming the glass on the bar.  He could tell he was going to need both of his hands for what was about to take place.  “Fuck,” he huffed as he was being dragged. 

Once they were completely in the thick of everyone on the floor, Ian immediately pulled him close until their pelvis bones were flush against each other’s.  He began to rhythmically move his hips, Mickey quickly getting the flow and following along the best he could.  He felt ridiculous, not even knowing if he was even on beat, but the thought quickly left his mind as he felt Ian un-tuck his black button-up and slip both of his hands underneath his shirt until his palms rested on the small of his back.  He began to rub the expanse of skin back there as he lowered his head, once again pressing his nose into Mickey’s neck.  This possessive act was nearly frightening, but that thought also dissipated at the feel of Ian’s tongue slowly swiping across his neck.  Mickey could feel the blood instantly start to rush to his dick.

Ian pulled up after a quick bite, his eyes locking onto Mickey’s.  The look in his eyes was a mixture of pain and desire, and Mickey felt his chest tighten at the sight.  There were cocktail waiters and waitresses working the floor holding trays full of free jell-o shots.  As one passed by them, Ian reached out and grabbed four of them, giving Mickey two and downing two himself.  The older boy followed suit, tossing his empty cups to the floor as Ian did.

The alcohol was already coursing through Ian’s veins, inhibition quickly disappearing.  Mickey wasn’t nearly as faded, but he was starting to feel tipsy.  Ian pulled him back in closer, his eyes landing on the older boy’s full lips.  He leaned in, and did what he always did before kissing Mickey, grazing his tongue along his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth and pulling on it slightly.  He knew it drove Mickey crazy.  He released his bottom lip and gripped the back of his neck, Mickey reciprocating the move as they crashed their mouths together.  The kiss was deep and desperate, Ian tugging on strands of Mickey’s hair as the older boy’s hand trailed slowly down the back of his neck.  Mickey never even fathomed he would ever kiss anyone in public, let alone another guy, but he found himself not caring, both of them seeming to disappear into each other.

Ian broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together as they continued to sway to the music, continuing gentle gestures of affection for a few more songs.  Mickey opted for another jell-o shot to catch up to Ian, but the younger boy was already too far ahead, downing two more.  He was always faster than him.  Ian refocused all of his senses back on the boy in front of him, and that’s when Mickey saw it.  There was water pooling in the corners of Ian’s eyes.  No tears fell, but it was enough to make Mickey feel an intense pang in his chest.  The younger boy placed both of his arms around his roommate’s neck before leaning in close to his ear.  “I need you to need me,” he said suddenly.  And that, threw Mickey for more than a loop.  He was at a loss for words, not knowing how to respond or where these words were blooming from, but there was no need to as Ian continued to speak.  “Can we get out of here?”

“Now?” Mickey responded into his ear.  Instead of responding right away, Ian grabbed the back of Mickey’s neck again and kissed him in a way that screamed _now_.

“I need you,” Ian breathed into Mickey’s ear, “right now.”  The older boy got the hint, this time grabbing Ian by the hand as he led him though the mess of people, leaving Sanai and Jessica behind.

~~~

Mickey knew aggression when he saw it, experienced it.  Being someone who crafted the emotion all too well, it didn’t take much for him to pinpoint it.  But there was also another emotion he knew whenever he saw it – pain.  Ian was distressed, he could see it on his face as he nearly attacked him when they got through their dorm room door, and for some reason, his reaction to this feeling was aggression, more specifically, sexual aggression.  His display of possessiveness at the club didn’t hold a candle to the dominance he was currently demonstrating.

“Ah, shit!” Mickey yelped as Ian practically slammed him against the wall, pinning both of his hands above his head as he marked his neck with hickeys. 

Ian quickly came up for air, an apologetic look in his eyes, which told Mickey, he wasn’t usually like this.  Something had definitely triggered him.  “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”  _Not yet_ Mickey thought.  And it wasn’t the physical hurt that worried him.  He’d been put through worse things.  It was the hurt not attached to bodily harm from hits thrown, but it was the invisible kind you couldn’t see coming.

“It’s ok,” Mickey breathed, “I’m fine.  Don’t stop.”

A small smile spread across Ian’s lips before he leaned in, placing a kiss on Mickey’s lips.  He ground his hips into his roommate’s, instantly rubbing their erections together, eliciting a guttural moan out of Mickey’s throat.  Ian began to fumble with Mickey’s jeans, undoing them desperately, Mickey doing the same to him.  Their pants simultaneously dropped to their knees, both of them not even caring to take the rest of their clothes off.  Ian spun Mickey around, pressing him against the wall, having no patience for getting on his bed, or christening his roommate’s as he had planned earlier.  He was too drunk and fucked up in the head at the moment to even care about any of the proper elements usually involved in having sex with someone.

It’s a good thing they were near his nightstand drawer, because Mickey was certain he wouldn’t have released him from off of the wall.  He knew where Ian kept his stash, so he fumbled the best he could as he opened the drawer, pulling out lube before practically tossing it in Ian’s face.  “Hurry up,” Mickey ordered, already stroking himself slowly.  Ian wasted no time slicking up his fingers, quickly prepping his roommate, bypassing starting with one finger and instantly inserting two.  A gasp escaped Mickey’s lips at the feeling of Ian’s fingers scissoring away inside him.

He was about to tell him to hurry the fuck up, but was quickly silenced at Ian pushing inside him, filling him up.  Mickey almost sighed at the feeling, but he could tell the red head had no intentions of taking it slow, or _easy_.  He could feel the sense of urgency in his thrusts, the way he breathed erratically into his neck.  Ian bit down on the flesh between Mickey’s neck and shoulder as he began to attack his prostate.  Mickey almost cried as the younger boy hit him with the ultimate precision.  He wasn’t going to last much longer. 

Mickey desperately needed something to grab on to, his knees turning into rubber as Ian continued his assault.  The flat wall wasn’t the greatest support, but Ian quickly took care of that as he gripped him around his chest with his right arm, holding him up.  He placed his left hand over Mickey’s, bringing it above his head as his weaved his fingers with his, squeezing tightly.  There was so much need in the way he gripped his hand, and the sudden rush of emotion sent Mickey over the edge as he came on the wall in front of him.  Ian followed suit after a few more thrusts, riding out his orgasm as his tightened his grip around Mickey’s chest.

The two boys stood there for a few moments, their minds trying to catch up to what their bodies just did.  Mickey could feel Ian’s chest start to lightly shake, and he initially thought it was as a result of post coital laughter.  But the notion quickly faded with drops of warm tears falling down his neck where Ian’s face was still pressed.  He was crying.  With that, Mickey finally broke them apart and turned around to face him.  Ian wouldn’t look at him, instead cupping his face with his hands as he sobbed silently.  Mickey didn’t know how to react or what to do.  Crying was a sin in the house he grew up in, or a ticket to a nice beating.  So he never learned to comfort someone, the preference to clean blood off of a busted lip easier than wiping tears from someone’s eyes.

“Ay, it’s ok,” Mickey said as he gripped Ian’s shoulder.  He had no clue why he was upset, but he would try his best to comfort him.  He pulled up his pants, and given Ian’s state, he bent down and pulled his up for him as well before leading them to the bed.  “What’s wrong?”

Ian finally uncovered his face, wiping the tears from his eyes and looked at Mickey.  “I’m sorry,” he sniffled, “I just…it’s just…” he trailed off.  He wiped a solitary tear that fell from his eye before continuing.  “It’s Monica.  She called me earlier.”

Mickey didn’t know too much about Ian’s mother, other than the fact she was flighty and bipolar.  There was also her slitting her wrists in front of all her kids’ faces, and the fact she abused drugs instead of taking the medication she was prescribed.  She was always in and out of their lives, and it was never a good thing whenever she resurfaced, Ian always questioning exactly how much he was like her.  “What did she want?” he asked hesitantly.

“Well she’s back home,” Ian sighed, “been back for a week now and no one fucking told me.”  And Ian knew they didn’t enlighten him, knowing this was exactly how he’d react.  He’d have words with Lip later.  “Said she needs to see me.  _Needs_.  Are you fucking kidding me?  She never needed me before.”  Ian leaned back on his bed, his eyes focusing on the ceiling.  He inwardly cringed at the sound of his mother’s voice on the phone earlier.

 

_“Hi honey, it’s me, Monica.”_

_Ian paused and nearly dropped his phone.  She didn’t have to say who it was as he could identify her voice under water.  He remained silent for a few moments before answering.  “What do you want?”_

_“I’m home sweetie, got back last week and was disappointed you weren’t home for Spring break.  I want you to fly home this weekend.  I need to see you.”  Ian could hear her hold her breath on the other end of the line.  He felt something snap loose inside of him, suddenly becoming disgruntled as all he could do was imagine the look in her eyes._

_“I’m not gonna do that.”_

_“I’ve already got you a ticket,” she offered.  “Ian, honey, please.”_

_Ian didn’t respond, only breathing heavily as he stood.  After what seemed like forever, he finally responded with a dry, “I can’t,” before hanging up.  His phone rang again, but he actively ignored it.  This time, she left a voice mail.  Reluctantly, he listened to it, his heart sinking at her one word message._

_“Please.”_

“You gonna go?” Mickey asked, looking down at Ian.  His eyebrows were stitched in a frown as he thought.

“I would, but she always brings out things in me I can’t seem to control.  I feel…unhinged around her.”  Ian turned his head slowly so he was now looking at Mickey.  “And I don’t want to go alone.”

Mickey got the hint, Ian obviously asking him to go with him.  He’d just got back out of Chicago, and although it would be to the Northside, he couldn’t go that route, not for a while.  “Your family will be there.”

“Ha!  My family,” Ian scoffed as he propped himself up.  “They don’t count in this matter.” 

Mickey sighed, on the verge of opening his mouth to let Ian down easy, but was interrupted by his phone ringing.  He picked it up, the screen reading ‘Iggy.’  He felt an odd whoosh come over him because Iggy rarely called him.  Usually it meant trouble.  He stood and walked over to his side of the room, answering on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?” he answered.  Iggy’s voice was laced with ferocity.

Ian watched as Mickey paced back and forth, obviously upset by the call.  This must have been the day for fucked up phone calls.  He listened as his roommate yelled back and forth, moving his hand around erratically.  He was fuming when he finally hung up, his chest heaving.  He turned and slowly walked over to Ian’s bed, and sat down, his nostrils still flared.

“Looks like we’re both flying home this weekend,” Mickey said still staring straight ahead.

The older boy closed his eyes, and wondered if it was possible for shit to hit two fans at once.  He looked over at Ian, their fucked up situations answering his question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter mainly to three songs - "Come Clean" by Greg Laswell, "Troubled Boy" by Kid Cudi and "Until We Bleed" by Kleerup feat. Lykke Li (mainly the club scene). I wanted to get more of Ian's story in here, as Mickey has been the primary focus. Ian has issues with feeling "wanted" or "needed" and I hope that came across. While he was there for Mickey and his trust issues and whatnot, Mickey will in turn help him with feelings of abandonment, and his pending mental health issues (which I'm still debating about misdiagnosis and bipolar disorder or not). Also, next chapter we're going back to Chicago, and you will learn a little more about the Giovanni family from the previous chapter (although I won't bring them in too heavily). The hardest part of this chapter for me was writing the sex scenes (which I rarely do and try to avoid haha). Again, thanks for sticking with me this long and I hope you enjoy this until the end! :)


	16. Don't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And he knew not letting go went far beyond this moment their hands shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for how long this took. I do hope it is well worth the wait. It's a massively long chapter (the longest single one), so be prepared to do some serious reading. :)
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains death, mentions of suicide, etc. I won't say too much to give it away, except read with caution if these are triggering for you, or not at all.

Mickey never thought he would find himself walking amongst the dead – at least not literally.  Yet, here he was, Mandy by his side as they walked through the damp cemetery grass, the ground hollow beneath the dirt.  He could almost feel how inflated earthly life was beneath his boots, that inevitable deflation imminent for everyone.  It was raining, but not a steady downpour where you needed an umbrella.  It was the drizzling kind that flew in your face, the sky spitting and laughing at the irony of it raining at yet another funeral.

It was a package deal.  Someone dies – it rains.

They were on their way to the interment, him and his sister, not the greatest support for each other or anyone for that matter, when Mandy decided to take a detour and stop.  This made Mickey look around as if someone would see them stopping at a headstone.  Milkoviches didn’t acknowledge the dearly departed.  They barely gave an iota of attention to those living around them.

“Why are we stopping?” he asked impatiently.

“Some of our family’s here in this area,” Mandy responded as she kneeled in front of one headstone in particular, “These are the family plots.”  She began to pick aimlessly at the weeds growing in front of the marker, her eyebrows furrowed in painful reminiscence.  It was obvious no one ever came here, so the weeds acknowledged who was forgotten since no one else did.  She subsequently ran her fingers across the name engraved into the stone.  “It’s funny how an entire life can be carved into what’s essentially a rock.”

Mickey rolled his eyes at his sister’s sudden need to get philosophical.  He’d dealt with enough shit throughout the week and needed things to just be straight forward for a change.  Fucking simple.  He didn’t look at the name she was touching, not wanting to know, but scoffing inwardly at how his family could barely keep shit together in life, but managed to have multiple plots already purchased for when they all bit the dirt.  Probably purchased with drug money or something.

“C’mon, we’re not here for this,” he nudged Mandy on her shoulder.  “We’re gonna miss everything.”  He was already on edge and didn’t need the extra push.

“But it’s mom,” she said solemnly.  “We’ve never visited her, or anyone lying here for that matter.”

Mickey finally looked at his mother’s name, a sadness twisting his heart.  It was true, they never visited.  It was a shame, but he had a hard time with things like this.  He then darted his eyes over the other headstones around his mother’s.  A grandmother, a grandfather, two cousins – _an_ _uncle_.  Mickey felt his breath catch in his throat as his eyes scanned over a name he thought he would never see again.  A name he didn’t want to see.  He didn’t know they would even have a headstone made up for them.  Were there even remains down there?

“What’s wrong?” Mandy asked as she finally stood.  She could see the unease in her brother’s face as his eyes twitched and his jaw muscles tightened – a telltale sign his nerves were going to shit.  She cast her eyes in the same direction as his, immediately seeing exactly what he was focusing on.  “We can go now,” she tried to break his concentration, “don’t want to miss everything, remember?”  Seeing that he wasn’t budging, Mandy gently tugged on his wrist.  It felt like she was trying to pull on a cinderblock that weighed a ton.  “Mick, you don’t have to look at that.  We’re here for Ian, remember?”

His name seemed to do the trick.  Snapping out of his funk at the sound of Ian’s name, Mickey looked at Mandy, his eyes stoic and unblinking.  _Hurt_.  He finally moved his feet from the spot they were stuck in and followed his sister.  He glanced over his shoulder at the headstone one more time, knowing they would have to walk by it again.

But he had to refocus.  They were here for Ian after all.

////////////////////////////////

_One week earlier…_

He almost grabbed his hand when the plane hit turbulence.  _Almost_.  It was a reflex, needing something to stabilize his nerves, needing something to curl his fingers into – the comfort.  Instead, Ian coiled his fingers inward, his blunt nails digging into his palm.  He caught a peripheral view of Mickey looking down adamantly at his hand, his own mirroring the same action.  It seemed they were both in need of a crutch, except it was more than that.  It was the going home.  What to expect.  A newfound relationship outside the very walls it dwelled in.  It was _them_.

“I always hated flying,” Ian said in a shaky voice.

Mickey’s fingers twitched at that, and he almost felt them jump to wrap around Ian’s to calm him.  But all of this was still so new.  The very thought of intimacy in public – sans a gay club – still made his spine turn to jelly.  “Sky belongs to the birds, right?” he offered words instead of a touch – still just as hard.

A crooked smile formed across Ian’s lips as he turned his head, pressed firmly into the airplane seat.  “It’s not the sky that scares me,” he started as he caught a hold to Mickey’s eyes, “it’s the possibility of _falling_...” he trailed off, “through the sky that is.”

Mickey knew the feeling – of falling that is.  _And not through the sky._

“Plane’s not gonna crash,” Mickey assured him.  “You like this every time you fly?”

“Eh, for the most part.  It’s a bit worse though given why I’m flying home.  My nerves are shit right now.”  Monica and the things she could cause, even when he was thousands of miles above the ground.  Same effect, only the crash would be much harder. 

“Seeing your mom may not be that bad,” Mickey said as he rested his head into the airplane seat.  “Besides, didn’t you want to see her at one point?”  A bit of turbulence hit again, causing Ian’s hand to jump.  His pinky landed on Mickey’s, who didn’t move in protest.  Instead, he allowed Ian to gently curl his pinky around his. 

Ian let out a long breath after seemingly holding it in once the plane steadied.  “I did,” Ian replied dryly, “but as usual, shit can take a drastic turn with her.  You think seeing my mother may not be that bad, but you don’t know her – or the stunts she can pull,” Ian said as he took note of the seatbelt light going dim.  He instantly unbuckled his seatbelt and rubbed his hand across his belly as if some weight was just pressing there.  Mickey could see his chest heave slightly.  “She pulls them all the time,” Ian continued, “pretends she cares about us, but she never stays on her meds long enough to let it stay that way.  When she’s around, it’s a waiting game.  Either she’ll harm herself or disappear…or both.”

“Could bring you some much needed closure though.  But who am I to even speak on that?” Mickey asked rhetorically as he thumbed his temple.  “Shit man, I have so much open – _shit_ – I don’t even think it’s capable of closure anymore.  Don’t think I’d face it all to try if I had the opportunity anyways.”

Ian then turned to look at Mickey.  His eyes were far off and fixated.  Dark and nearly vacant.  Worried.  Ian knew worry, and well.  It ate away at all of you inside until only hollowness remained and the only thing left were your eyes.  “Why’re you going home when you just left?” Ian asked.  He’d chosen not to ask Mickey this back at the dorm, considering anxieties were still so high for the both of them.

“Family shit I need to sort out I guess,” Mickey responded before chewing nervously on his bottom lip.  “Hell, I’m not even too sure to be honest.  Other than bein’ a fucking mad man on the phone, the only definite thing was a name my brother said to me.”  Mickey pushed the phone conversation with Iggy around in his head, trying to turn over stones, only to find clueless clues.  Notwithstanding, it was going to be trouble – that much he could muster.

 

_“You need to get the fuck back here!” Iggy roared into the phone after a cryptic back and forth with his younger brother.  It wasn’t an option._

_It seemed like Mickey’s life would be spent in limbo – between home in Chicago and where he was trying to make his home in New York.  But if Ian’s eyes and the way they carried over his face was any consolation, perhaps home would be wherever his roommate looked at him this way._

_Like time stopped and nothing was fucked up._

_He’d just gotten back to Ian, but in order for things to remain that way, he knew he would have to venture back to the Southside.  Just like that.  As if he’d never left.  He’d get to know the sky a lot better than himself it seemed.  Iggy was a mess on the phone, and if his voice and the way it carried through the receiver was any proof – things were still fucked up.  Trouble and bad news seemed to have an affinity for his ankles, tying themselves around them, slowing him down.  Tripping.  So no matter where he walked, there they were, shoestring tangling and a real hassle._

_“I’ll come home, handle whatever this is,” Mickey offered.  Except it wasn’t really an offer – it was fulfilling an ultimatum._

_“Fuck yeah you will,” Iggy responded, “and don’t worry ‘bout a ticket, whatever the cost I got it covered.  Just get here.”  Mickey could hear Iggy let out a cold, jagged breath before hanging up._

_“Looks like we’re both flying home this weekend,” Mickey said as he stared straight ahead.  His eyes then closed – just a little darkness and maybe he could catch a break._

_“What happened?” Ian asked, genuinely concerned._

_“My brother didn’t give too many details,” Mickey responded, “said he’d fill me in when I got there, but the name alone is enough.”_

_“What name?”_

_Mickey chewed his bottom lip, knowing for sure that this was it.  “Carlo Giovanni,” he finally answered.  The name meant nothing to Ian, but everything to him._

 

“Couldn’t do it from New York?  Not that I’m questioning you going back,” Ian offered, “because I’m glad you’re with me at least.”  A small smiled washed over Mickey’s lips from that, before disappearing into something more serious.

“When it comes to my family and the shit that comes with the bloodline,” Mickey started as he turned to face Ian, “things need to be handled in person, so in case someone bleeds, you’re there to bleed with them.  Despite being an absolute piece of shit, that’s how my dad raised us.”

“So I take it that used to go for him too?”  Mickey raised a brow at Ian’s comment.

“Used to,” Mickey answered.  “It’s fucked up really.  We’d always scrap _with_ and _for_ him, despite knowing he could and would turn on us in an instant.  Now…” Mickey trailed off as he reminisced over all the times Terry beat them senseless, “bastard could bleed to death for all I care.”

“Definitely understand that,” Ian said, “it’s anger.”

“No,” Mickey countered, “it’s being fed up.  Fucking tired.”  And in all truth, this is exactly what it was for him.  Mickey knew anger better than he knew himself.  He could trace and retrace its unforgiving contours blindly.  It was committed to memory like every scar on his body – evidence that this _anger_ had been there.

Ian could see the being fed up and the tiredness creeping its way to the surface of Mickey’s skin.  It turned flush, and he could feel the sudden increase in his body temperature travel up his pinky finger, still curled slightly around the inked letter _P_.  That sudden need to hold something came rushing back into Ian’s chest, and he thought back to how he almost grabbed Mickey’s hand in the turbulence.  He didn’t want this trip to be full of _almosts_ so he replaced it with an _actually_ and grabbed his roommate’s hand.  Ian wasn’t a gambler, but when it came to Mickey he always found himself rolling the dice.

So when Mickey didn’t disentangle his fingers from his, Ian considered this one a win.

Mickey didn’t even notice that Ian was holding his hand until he looked down.  Their hands melted together, bones bent, furling until their skin met and became like one – proof that they were meant to be that way. 

“Don’t let go,” Ian said suddenly.  He wasn’t looking at Mickey, but was staring straight ahead, a frown on his face.  _Nerves_.

This was somewhat out of character for Mickey.  Holding hands with someone is a gesture he never imagined himself doing, yet here he was, actually content with the feeling.  He tightened his grip as reassurance to his roommate.  “I won’t,” Mickey responded, “ever.”

And he knew not letting go went far beyond this moment their hands shared.

~~~

“You sure about this?” Mickey asked unsure.

Ian placed his hand on the gate at the edge of his walkway before turning to look at Mickey.  The older boy looked uncertain and out of place.  Despite being at his home before, the conditions this time were different.  “Unless you need to get home now, I’m sure,” Ian responded.  “I understand if you need to go take care of your stuff though.”  His eyes were too expectant for Mickey to say no.  It was a good thing Iggy wasn’t expecting him until later that night.

“Nah, it’s cool,” Mickey said as he finally got his feet to move, “Iggy’s not expecting me until later tonight and Mandy’s at work, so…” he trailed off.  “No one for me to really see right now.”

They’d landed in Chicago earlier.  Mickey expected them to go their separate ways once outside of the airport, and meet back up the next day.  Instead, he got a green, doe-eyed, six-foot-something red head who practically begged for him to come with him.  The moment Ian spoke, Mickey was doomed.  Simple vibrations from his voice seemed to be connected to his heart beat – it nearly stopped when Ian could barely get out a, _“Please.”_

_“I can’t see her alone,” Ian said as they stood outside the airport, “Not initially.”_

_Mickey caught a hold to the anxiety in Ian’s eyes, and suddenly he was right there with him.  “You’ll have your family there too.”_

_“I’ll have them,” Ian said, “but I need you.”_

_“Ian – “_

_“Please,” Ian asked shakily.  Somewhere in one syllable Mickey’s heart nearly faltered._

_Ian’s managed to also tie himself around his ankles, so he wouldn’t have been able to step away from him if he tried.  Just like trouble and bad news._

Once up the front steps, Ian stuck his key in the door, not turning right away.  He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.  A wave of Mickey’s body heat right behind him calmed him and he turned the knob, entering his house.  At first sight, there appeared to be no one home, the living room was empty and there wasn’t any noise, which was awkward for a Friday afternoon at the Gallagher house.

“I don’t think anyone’s home yet,” Ian said as he turned to look at Mickey.  There was a deep worry in his face, and there was a flush creeping up his neck. 

After looking around anxiously for about a minute, Ian walked into the kitchen and saw no one there.  The feeling of an empty house had never felt so relieving to him, even the sound of his sneakers hitting the linoleum granting him a peace that would have never been affiliated with the sound.  Ian finally made his way back into the living room with two beers he’d stolen from Jimmy’s stash.  “C’mon,” Ian motioned with his head for Mickey to follow him upstairs.

“Where we headed?” Mickey asked, although he knew where.

“My room,” Ian responded.  He hiked up the stairs, Mickey close behind.

Last time he was at the Gallagher house, Mickey stayed in the basement, down below and hidden.  Now as he stepped inside of Ian’s room, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d been lifted above something.  Ian’s room was fairly big, painted blue, which didn’t surprise Mickey, being this was a house in the Northside and all.  It also didn’t surprise Mickey to see another large beanbag in his floor and a shelf full of books by different Psychologists such as Skinner, Jung, Pavlov and Lewin.  Ian’s justly large bed was also something that elicited a minimal reaction.  Of course he would have a big bed, and not a small twin like his.

Ian threw his bag down next to his closet, Mickey placing his own backpack beside it, his back to his roommate who he could hear doing some shuffling behind him.  Mickey unzipped and removed his hoodie, but before he could turn around, there was a hand snaking its way underneath his t-shirt, followed by a sharp coldness that elicited a girly yelp from his mouth.  The squeal slowly transmuted into a low moan when Mickey realized Ian was sliding his cold fingers from the beer bottles up his spine.  They were slightly damp from the condensation and more than unexpected.  _Sneaky_.  Ian then leaned in, the hot breath from his mouth bathing Mickey’s ear creating an electrifying juxtaposition of hot and cold which nearly sent him into a frenzy.

“The f-fuck are you doing?” Mickey asked, trying his best not to sound like he was falling apart.  Now this – this surprised him.  Just a few moments ago, Ian was nervous out of his mind and now here he was running his frosty fingers up and down his back.  Not that he was complaining.

“What’s it look like?” Ian whispered into his ear before spinning him around.  There was a taken aback look on Mickey’s face, which caused Ian to remove his hand from underneath his shirt.  “Something wrong?”

“It’s just…” Mickey trailed off, almost wanting to whine at the feeling of Ian’s fingers leaving his skin, “Nothing,” he offered. 

“Look,” Ian started as he reintroduced his now warmer fingers to Mickey’s spine, “I’m okay, really.”  Whether or not that was true, Mickey wouldn’t be able to tell.  The way Ian took his bottom lip between his teeth made his judgment abilities equivalent to that of a five year old.

Mickey grabbed the back of Ian’s neck with his right hand when he released his lip.  He practically smashed their mouths back together, his tongue exploring Ian’s like he knew it.  And he did.  Heat flickered between their bodies as Ian began walking backwards, leading them to his bed, subsequently turning them around.  The edge of the bed caught Mickey behind his knees, causing him to fall to the bed, his back hitting the mattress with a dull thud.  Ian didn’t land on top of him.  He instead stood above his roommate, towering, admiring, his mere presence helicopter hovering.

Ian then lowered himself onto the bed between Mickey’s knees, his hands immediately finding their way to his zipper.  He could already feel how excited the older boy was through his jeans.  Ian maneuvered himself so his face was directly above Mickey’s, his eyes leaning into his.  A sigh of relief escaped him when the zipper was finally down and his hand slipped into Mickey’s boxers.

“Ahh shit,” Mickey breathed out right when Ian gripped him at the base of his dick, before stroking slowly, his thumb flicking across the head where pre-come had already gathered.  He was breathing heavily, low whines managing to escape his throat.

Ian smiled into Mickey’s neck from the sounds he was making, licking and biting there.  “I like the way you smell,” Ian said into the dip beneath his jaw bone, before nipping there. 

The older boy responded by grabbing a fistful of red hair, his hips reflexively bucking up into Ian’s hand.  Ian then lifted his head, and Mickey looked back into his green eyes, which were filled with stories his mouth had yet to tell him.  He didn’t respond verbally, but instead pressed their lips back together, a perfect mold of words unspoken and slipped into the gentle sweeping of tongues. 

Ian began to lift up Mickey’s shirt, but halted his movements at the sound of someone down the stairs calling his name.  It only took one time for him to recognize who it was.  The unrest and slight desperation, lined with something childlike – a once happiness buried somewhere beneath the aloof intonation.  “Fuck,” Ian breathed out.  He tugged Mickey’s shirt back down and lifted himself off of his bed.

“Who is it?” Mickey asked Ian as he sat up.  It was a question he really didn’t need Ian to answer, because based off of the way he was running his hands through his hair as he paced crop circles into the carpet, already let him know who.

“Monica,” Ian replied lowly.  “She must have – “  A few gentle knocks rapped at his bedroom door, cutting him off mid-sentence. 

“Ian?” her voice called from behind his bedroom door, “Ian, honey?  You in there?”  He didn’t respond.  Instead, he stood lock-jawed and vulnerable to whatever it was she was yielding this time around.  The doorknob turned and Ian found himself reflexively taking a few steps backwards as the door crept open.

Seeing her wasn’t as hard as he had anticipated.  He could see a thousand pictures of her and still be fine.  It was the nearness, the knowing that being near Monica meant bent fingers were bound to curl into your very soul, pulling out pieces you could never get back.  It was thievery.  She did this every time she left indefinitely, when she refused to take her meds – when she chose to harm herself.  Her eyes were still the same color, green like his, but more sea foam and closer to blue with that ring of hazel just around the pupil.  The color was temperamental.  Hard to pinpoint.  _Tricky_.  Just like her.

There was more of a sadness than usual behind them this time around.

“When did you get in?” she asked, a feigned smile spreading across her lips. 

“About fifteen minutes ago,” Ian answered.  He didn’t realize his voice was shaky.  Mickey did.

Monica clasped her hands together as she stepped more inside of his room.  “I was downstairs in the basement doing laundry,” she said as she peered around Ian to catch a glimpse of Mickey.  “W-who’s your friend?”  A few coughs escaped her chest following her question.

Ian turned to look at Mickey who was already standing from the sound of his name.  “Monica, this is my roommate Mickey from college.  Mick, this is – _Monica_ ,” Ian offered before going to sit on his bed. 

Mickey didn’t shake hands, but this was Ian’s mom, so he awkwardly extended his out of courtesy.  She looked down at it for a few seconds before smiling more, shaking it gingerly.  “Nice to meet you Mickey,” she spoke as she released his hand, “such a handsome boy you are.”

“Thanks,” Mickey responded taken aback.  No one’s called him handsome since his mom died.  He didn’t expect the feeling the compliment had just given him.

“You’ve got such blue eyes Mickey,” Monica continued as she smiled at him, “I bet they drive my baby Ian here crazy.  He’s got a real thing for eyes ya know.  And there’s such sincerity behind yours.”

“That’s way more than what can be said about your eyes,” Ian interjected before Mickey could respond.  He turned to see his roommate sitting on the edge of his bed with his elbows rested on his knees as he talked to the carpet, refusing to look at his mother.

Instead of responding to that right away, Monica smiled wider as she looked at Mickey, which was really beginning to freak him out.  “Excuse us Mickey,” she said as she placed a hand on his shoulder, “would you mind giving us some time to talk alone?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied just as he looked over his shoulder at Ian, only to see him shaking his head ‘no’ in protest.  He mouthed the word _‘stay’_ toMickey which was at the most, ineffective.  Mickey was never one to interject himself in family business, knowing he wouldn’t want anyone to do that to him.  “I’ll just go down to the family room, leave you two to it.”  He could hear Ian let out a long, frustrated breath when he exited his room.

Once the door slammed, Monica walked over towards Ian’s bed, each step so calculated as if she was trying not to scare her son away.  Given the history of their relationship, that was definitely a possibility.  She sat down hesitantly beside him, reaching out her hand to grab his, only for him to shy away and withdraw it before she could make contact.  _Stung_.

“Ian honey, do you have to be like this?” she pleaded.  “I brought you home for a reason and I was hoping we could squash a few things in the process.”

Ian shook his head in disbelief as he let out a huff.  “Is that right?” he asked as he finally looked at her.  “Why did you bring me back here anyway?  I thought you wouldn’t be getting released anytime soon.”

“Don’t say it like that,” she said as she scooted closer.  “Why’d you think I wouldn’t get out sooner?”

“I don’t know, I’d say uh, last time I checked,” Ian said harshly, “you were in there for threatening to stab yourself in the chest – in front of your kids,” he chided.

A nonplussed look washed over her face, the shock of her dirty little secret, at least from Ian, coming to light.  “You weren’t supposed to know that,” Monica said as she looked down at her hands. 

And he wasn’t supposed to know this, but Lip let him in on the main reason why she was gone before he headed back to New York once winter break was over.  He never spoke about it after that.  And up until that point, Ian always wished he could see her, this forgiveness thing something he was honestly trying to work on.  He’d even expressed to Mickey his disappointment in how far away she was from her family, which subsequently led to one of their most vulnerable moments – them being together for the first time.  But just like all of her other secrets she’d kept from him, this one came out with a vengeance and once again he found himself in the dark about something else.  It was as if certain things were kept from him, like he was her porcelain child.  Easily broken.  _Fragile_. 

Maybe he was.

“Yeah well, as you know, secrets don’t get kept long around here,” Ian said as he studied the shame in his mother’s face. 

“It happened while you were away one weekend with Ezra,” Monica started to speak as she lifted her head.

“I remember,” Ian responded.  “I came home only to be told you were being admitted due to complications with your bipolar disorder and this place in California was going to help you get better.  Jesus Monica, you already tried to kill yourself in front of us, but to threaten to do it again?  Fiona and Lip are old enough to handle it, but Debs?  Carl?  Liam?” 

Really, none of them could handle it.

“I know and I’m sorry.  It was complications,” Monica pleaded.  “That’s how this disease works you know.  One minute you feel on top of the world and the next you feel like you’re carrying it on your back.  My meds weren’t working and – “

“Or you weren’t taking them?  Just like the times you split?” Ian interjected. 

“I snapped one day, ok?  I couldn’t control it.  Something in me gave way and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Live.” 

There was a moment of silence and Ian thought how this must have been déjà vu for her.  To not want to live not once, but twice.  Perhaps it was an ever, reemerging feeling she had to always keep at bay.  Maybe he was being too hard on her.  But every time he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, she would pull one of her disappearing acts, or threaten to end herself altogether.   

“I’m sorry,” Ian said lowly.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Monica offered as she placed her hand on Ian’s shoulder, this time her attempt at contact not causing him to flinch.  “It isn’t your fault.”

“I know it isn’t my fault,” Ian responded, “and I’m not apologizing to you, I’m apologizing for you.”

Monica understood without needing him to expound further or continue on the topic at hand.  Instead, she changed the subject.  “Ian honey,” she said softly, “all of this is not the main reason why I called for you to come home.”

Ian already knew bad news was coming before she continued.  Trying desperately to prolong to imminence, he looked at her and asked, “Where is everyone else?”

“Debs and Carl are at friends’ houses for sleepovers, Liam is with Fi and Jimmy out doing some shopping, Lip’s back at school, and we can both take a lucky guess at where your father is.”

“He’s not my father,” Ian stabbed. 

“Right,” Monica replied obviously pierced by that.  “Well, _Frank_ ,” she emphasized, “is missing in action as usual.”  She finally grabbed Ian’s hand in a last attempt, feeling him trying to resist, so she blurt out what she had to tell him instead of doing it delicately.  “I have lung cancer.”

Ian’s hand stilled.

His eyes widened and his mouth went slightly ajar.  “W-wait?  What?” he asked, wanting her to repeat it to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. 

“Cancer,” she said, her voice breaking.  “I thought it was just a cough, but when I went to the doctor, they ran a bunch of tests – nothing I’m not already used to – and they said its cancer.  That’s why I got released earlier than what everyone expected.”

“What stage?” Ian asked, disbelief already apparent in his voice.  It was right then Monica let out another hacking cough, and he felt himself unraveling at the sound.  He didn’t have the greatest relationship with his mother, but he never wanted this.

After gathering herself from the string of coughs, Monica finally took in one huge, rattling breath to respond.  “Stage four,” she responded, “and it’s aggressive.”  She coughed again, squeezing Ian’s hand while she did as if bracing through it.  “Doctors want to do even more aggressive chemotherapy and radiation.  Said it will give me more time.”

“How long?”

“Six months, a year tops, with the treatment.”

Ian didn’t expect to react this way, but he dropped his head into his hands.  He didn’t cry, but closed his eyes tight, too tight, as he felt himself getting more and more anxious.  “What the fuck mom,” Ian said into his hands.

Monica let out a surprised breath.  She hadn’t heard Ian call her mom since he was a small child.  She rubbed his back before standing to kneel in front of him.  “I had to tell you in person.  News like this you don’t share over the phone.  Told the others over Spring Break.”

Ian finally looked up, his face flush and his breathing unsteady.  “What are you gonna do?”

 

Monica stood to her feet after what felt like an eternity after her words to Ian.  He was shocked and angry and melancholy all at the same time.  He was speechless, but with so much to say.  Anxious and indifferent, simultaneously.  A jumbled mess of contrasts.  He watched as his mother went to exit his room, before turning to look over her shoulder at him.

“I’ll be fine Ian,” she offered, but no solace came.  “You’ll be fine."

But fine for Ian would be nearly impossible.

He opened his drawer desperately and fished for the one thing he knew would give him the composure he needed.  He let out a sigh of relief when he heard the rattling if pills, curling his fingers around the bottle as he pulled it out.  He opened it, and downed two pills without water, squeezing his eyes and frowning at the bitter taste that rolled slowly down the back of his throat.  Just as e closed the bottle and threw it back into his drawer, Mickey entered his room, already knowing something was wrong.

“Your mom came and told me I could come up,” Mickey said as he walked cautiously towards Ian’s bed.  “She said you may need some consoling.”  Incredulous he was, and Ian could hear it.

“Consoling huh?” Ian laughed somewhat hysterically as he brought his legs up onto his bed and leaned against his headboard.  “Well no need to sound freaked out about it.  I know it’s not your _thing_ or whatever.”

Mickey frowned at how erratic and sarcastic Ian was acting.  He felt himself get a bit angry at that, given he did let the kid hold his fucking hand on the plane, but then he noticed how he couldn’t keep still, his leg with a mind of its own.  He was trying to look everywhere in his room, except at him, and Mickey immediately knew what that was.  Instead of responding to that, he placed himself beside Ian on his bed.

“The fuck happened?” he asked.

“Oh nothing,” Ian said as he looked at Mickey, trying his best to make himself look like he didn’t have a care in the world, when every possible burden was pressing behind his eyes, trying to burst out.  “Monica’s got lung cancer.  Stage four.  Told me she was sorry about a bunch of things.  No big deal.”

“I’d say that’s a pretty big fucking deal Ian,” Mickey offered, earning a frown from his roommate.  “Look, not that it’s my business or anything, but she’s still your mom.  It’s ok to be upset about it.”

“I don’t know what I am,” Ian responded as he sunk into his mattress until his back was flush against it, “and this is your business, because…” he lagged off, before his hand did the jumping thing again, landing on Mickey’s. “Because I’m your business.”

Mickey didn’t know how to respond to that, choosing to deflect instead.  “Look, I can head home now and let you have some time to yourself.”  Besides, being alone usually was the only way he knew how to cope.  Ian however, was the opposite.  He maneuvered to stand, only for his roommate to grab his arm, his green eyes with that magnetic expectancy in them again. 

“No please, just – “ Ian cut himself off as he began to pull Mickey down towards him.  “Lay here with me for a while?”

Not being able to protest if he wanted to, Mickey acquiesced, lining himself next to Ian until his back was flush against the mattress as well.  “Alright, happy now?” he said as he let his head rest into Ian’s pillow.

“I don’t know,” Ian responded as he suddenly turned on his side, throwing his arm over Mickey’s waist. He placed his head on his chest right beneath his collar bone.  “She’s refusing treatment,” Ian breathed out.

“Shit Ian, I’m sorry,” Mickey said, not really knowing what else to say besides that. Ian didn’t respond, instead, his hand began to grip and ball the fabric of Mickey’s shirt.  He began to feel the younger boy shake slightly, and it was then Mickey realized what was happening.  He was crying.  Reflexively, he slipped his arm underneath Ian’s body and pulled him closer, his fingers pressing into his back as he held him.

“Don’t let go,” Ian whispered into his chest.

And once again Mickey assured him, “I won’t.  Ever.”

~~~

The buzzing of his phone in his pocket woke him up.  Mickey opened one eye, then the other, before slowly untangling himself from a sleeping Ian.  He was like a rock, heavy and unmoving, and suddenly Mickey thought to himself this was the kind of sleep someone got with a little help.  He looked at Ian’s clock on his nightstand, and noticed it was after seven.  They had been asleep for nearly four hours.

After all the turbulence, in the sky and otherwise, it was probably much needed. 

The incessant vibrating of his phone seemed to get louder the longer it took him to answer.  Pulling it out of his pocket, Mickey finally answered, a somewhat impatience in his voice.  It was Iggy.  “Yeah?”

“Where the fuck are you?” Iggy said gruffly.  There was no mood change from how he was earlier in the week.

“Calm yourself,” Mickey answered.  “I’m in Chicago.”

“Where?”

“I – uh…” Mickey dawdled as he looked down at Ian, “I’m at a friend’s house.”

There was a suspicious moment of silence over the line, and Mickey already knew Iggy had sniffed out his bullshit.  “Whatever, I’m not about to be all up in your business yo,” he finally spoke, “just get here.”

“Thought you said around nine?”

“Things change,” Iggy bit.  “Be home in no more than thirty.”  There was a loud click on the other end of the line and Mickey felt a sharp pain shoot through the top of his head from the pending stress.  He massaged his temples with his index and middle fingers, looking back down at Ian who seemed to be stirring to life in slow motion.

“Ummph,” Ian grunted as he began to toss and turn.  He was moving gradually, as if struggling to come out of the deep sleep he was in.  A medicine-induced sleep.  He finally managed to get one of his eyes open, a flash of jade peeping through almost closed lids.  He was staring up at Mickey, twisting his face when he realized he was up.  “You’re leaving?” he asked, voice groggy.

“Yeah gotta go handle some family business now,” Mickey answered as he stood from the bed.  “Just got a call from my brother.”

Ian stretched his arms and sat up, steadying himself when he felt his equilibrium suddenly go to shit.  “Whoa,” he breathed out, “looks like I took too much – “ he cut himself off when noticed Mickey hanging on his every word.  “I’ll come with you,” Ian said as he struggled to stand.

“I think it’s best of you don’t,” Mickey countered as he began to gather his things.

“Why?”  Ian was persistent, even when he was in an altered state.

“Well, one, you’re still coming down off of that shit you took,” he said as he shot a glance at Ian over his shoulder.  “What was it?  Zoloft?  Xanax?”

“Valium this time,” Ian responded as he sat back down as he rubbed the back of his neck.  “I take those when I feel like I’m about to panic, ok?”

“Looks like you took too many.”

“Look, I can’t help I have depression and anxiety.  In fact I’m starting to think it’s more than that, like I’ll end up like Monica soon.”  Ian lined himself against his headboard as he continued to watch Mickey prepare to leave.  “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow night,” Mickey assured him as he threw his bag pack over his shoulder.  “All this shit should be squared away by then.”

“Good,” Ian said as he closed his eyes from an apparent headache. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”  Mickey turned to exit Ian’s room.

“Wait,” Ian called out just as Mickey opened his door.  The older boy turned around, only to find Ian already up and right there on his heels.

“What is it?”

Without saying anything or warning, Ian cupped Mickey’s face with his hands before leaning in and kissing him gingerly on the lips.  It threw Mickey, but he gathered himself quickly and leaned more into the kiss before breaking them apart.  “That,” Ian said as he pulled away.

And with _that_ , Mickey turned around and made his way out of the Gallagher house. 

~~~

“I said thirty bitch!” Iggy barked at Mickey as soon as he entered his house.  He was sitting on the couch with a beer in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other and a glint in his eyes that only meant he was out for blood. 

“Calm the fuck down, I’m here aren’t I?” Mickey barked back as he threw his bag down on the floor.  He immediately went and grabbed one of Iggy’s cigarettes out of the package, lighting it up.  His pull was long and drawn out.  Much needed.  The nicotine calmed him as he did a once over of Iggy at a closer view.  There was some fury there.

“Done sneakin’ around with bitches?” Iggy said through a ring of smoke.  He smirked before standing, eyeing his younger brother up and down. 

Ignoring the question, Mickey simply scoffed and instead asked Iggy about what was so urgent.  “The hell’s going on?  Where’s everyone else?”

“Carlo Giovanni is what’s going on,” Iggy responded.  He tilted his head back, finishing the last of his beer, before making his way to the armoire in the corner, pulling out a bottle of Jack Daniels.  Mickey shifted his weight nervously from one leg to the other, hoping with every fiber in his 5’7” frame, that the sonofabitch didn’t divulge their little secret.

“What about him?”  Mickey was hesitant in his question, trying not to sound too suspicious or give himself away.

“I need something harder than beer,” Iggy deflected, “a shot of Jack will do.  You want a drink?  Because I need a drink.”

“Sure,” Mickey responded.  “So what about Carlo?” he asked again, hoping this time Iggy would actually explain instead of acting – weird.  He was presented with a shot of Jack which he downed without hesitation.  After taking his drink, Colin entered the living room, face battered and bruised and his arm in a sling.  “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, what the fuck,” Iggy echoed.  He doused his mouth with the alcohol, barely wincing from the burn, his eyes never leaving Mickey’s face.  “I would ask you what the fuck you were doing consorting with a Giovanni, but I won’t.  Instead, I’ll just let you explain.”

“Look, I don’t know what that fucker said, but – “

“It was about dad, wasn’t it?” Colin interrupted.  Mickey stilled himself, not responding, instead casting his eyes downward.  “Look, I don’t give a fuck about Terry,” Colin continued, “but making a deal with a Giovanni?  You might as well take a trip to hell and shake hands with the fuckin’ devil himself Mickey.  I’m not complainin’ about the shit Terry’s in, in fact they can put him under the clink for all I care.  But what the hell did you say to Carlo that started all this shit?”

“What shit?” Mickey asked, his blood pressure peaking.  Carlo was a fucking dead man.  This much he was certain about, because what they agreed upon was between the two of them.  But he should have known better.  The Giovanni’s could never be trusted.  Nonetheless, Terry being locked away for good was worth it.  He wouldn’t apologize for that.

“Carlo and his cronies jumped Colin one night,” Iggy interjected, “saying some shit like Mickey’s mouth started all of this and a Milkovich had to pay as a message.  Apparently there’s a huge feud in prison between dad and Giancarlo Sr. about that shit that went down years ago and landed him in prison.  Giancarlo accused dad of being a snitch, so Terry retaliated and it’s a mess now.  Giancarlo is supposedly sending messages to his people on the outside to get _all_ Milkoviches.”

“Mandy too?” Mickey asked, genuinely concerned for his sister.  His brothers could handle shit that came their way themselves, but Mandy was the only girl and Mickey would go through hell and hot water to protect her.  Although, she was tougher than most people thought.

“Shit,” Colin snorted, “they have sisters that won’t try and kill her or anything, but I’m sure they’ll disfigure her somehow, like throw acid in her face or give her a Glasgow smile like Uncle Vlad had.”

Mickey felt himself wince from the sound of that name.  _Uncle Vlad._   “Yeah well that shit won’t happen if we put an end to this, _tonight_ ,” Mickey offered.

“Not tonight,” Iggy countered.  “I got word that Carlo and the two fuckers that helped him jump Colin will be at the old baseball patch tomorrow, like they always are on Saturday nights.”  Iggy thumbed his chin as he thought for a few moments, the wheels turning in his head.  “I call bullshit anyways,” Iggy said before downing another shot, “this isn’t Giancarlo Sr.’s style – sending sloppy orders for his son to just jump people.  I say this is Carlo’s idea, all by his lonesome, tryin’ to win daddy’s affections.  He was always a fuck up, so he’s probably trying to make a name for himself, took the opportunity _you_ gave him with this shit to do it.”  And with that, Iggy shot Mickey a glare only a Milkovich was capable of.

Mickey felt the glare, stabbing him in his chest. 

“Tomorrow night?” he finally asked somewhat hesitant.  He had already promised Ian he would be back by then, but now he knew that wouldn’t happen.

“Why, you got somewhere to be?” Iggy questioned.

“No,” Mickey responded, somewhat subdued.  Really, he did, not that it was important now.  He had something to prove here.

“Good.  Whoever she is, she can wait,” he huffed, “we end this shit tomorrow – for good.”  Mickey nodded, inwardly cringing at the fact his brother actually thought he was with a girl, and began to make his way to his room.  “And Mick,” Iggy called before he could disappear, “I know what dad did to you, putting you in the hospital around New Year’s and all.  I’m sorry I got myself in some shit and couldn’t be there to help you.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Mickey responded.  He was glad Iggy wasn’t there actually – he wasn’t sure how he would’ve reacted seeing him tangled in a red headed boy’s long limbs.

“We all know dad’s a snitch, we all know he’s a piece of shit,” Iggy continued, “and we all know what he did years ago.  It’s no secret.  But we also know him and Giancarlo will keep that shit behind prison walls, so whatever you did, it was a favor to all of us.  But promise me something.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asked, feeling some type of way now about what he’d done.  Two fucks still couldn’t be given about Terry, but the fact his brothers were possibly questioning his character – that shit bothered him to the bone.

“Just don’t do no shit like this again.”

Mickey silently acknowledged this with the promising glint in his eye and the tightening of his jaw as he disappeared behind his door.  He plopped down on his bed, hoping that tomorrow night wouldn’t turn deadly and let him see the night after that.  Being a Milkovich, he couldn’t be so sure – life was never a surety, but a shitty warranty usually with a short expiration.  He used to not care given the things he’d gone through in this life.  Death was universal and came to everyone eventually anyway.  It just came sooner to most Milkoviches.

But then Ian happened and he’d be a fool to say he didn’t make life worth living.

~~~

Night the next day came quick – too quick. 

“Watch where you’re fuckin’ going!” Iggy bit as Mickey crashed into his heels just as he came to a halt at the edge of a building.  They were across the street from the baseball patch, black hoods pulled tight around their faces and their non-firing weapons drawn. 

 _Baseball bat, crowbar, brass knuckles_. 

The plan was to just beat Carlo and his cronies senseless, throw out a few threats – but Southside logic of course had them bring the real heat also, each of them strapped.  They were still around the bend, concealed from clear view as they spied inconspicuously from the shadows.  Colin was still a mess and would just be dead weight so they dragged their twitchy cousin Andy with them – he suffered from Tourette syndrome which was always a good scare tactic when they wanted to freak people out.  Not to mention the guy had some serious _hands_.  He could disfigure a face with one blow.

“There he is,” Iggy said lowly, “riiiiight fuckin’ there.”  Just as Mickey peered around his brother, he caught a glimpse of Carlo, along with two guys he didn’t recognize.  He didn’t think he’d want to charge the guy as soon as he saw him, but rage had other plans.  He immediately began to make his way towards Carlo, not thinking about what his move would be, only for Iggy to yank him backwards.  “The fuck Mick, wait a minute!  Wait until they go by the dugouts, out of street view.”

“Fucking fuck!” Andy yelped all of a sudden.  Mickey wasn’t sure if it was his Tourette’s or Milkovich genes that got him suddenly enraged.  “I say we just go right fuckin’ now!”

“I said wait!” Iggy barked back, only for Andy to twitch violently as he ran his fingers across his brass knuckles.

Mickey balled his fists as he watched Carlo make his way towards the dugouts with the two guys.  As soon as he disappeared from street view, he charged, Iggy’s voice behind him, but a mere, faint echo in his head.  He had tunnel vision at this point.  Iggy and Andy followed behind him, not having a choice but to go along with Mickey now.  Once they reached the edge of the dugout, they could clearly see that Carlo and his buddies were drunk, vodka bottles in hand.

“Well lookie who we have here!” Mickey taunted as he hopped into the dugout.  Carlo’s yes widened in shock as saw the dark-haired Milkovich, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“The fff-fuck?” Carlo slurred, “Mickey?”  His two buddies did their best to square their shoulders and come to Carlo’s defense, only for each of them to be hemmed up and slammed against the dugout walls – one by Iggy and the other by Andy.  Seeing his loss of defense, Carlo side-stepped, trying his best to maneuver around Mickey, his legs refusing to steady themselves from too much vodka.  “I thought you were in New York.”

“Was douchebag,” Mickey said menacingly, “but now I’m not.”  He stilled himself and leaned his baseball bat against his leg to crack his knuckles, before picking it back up with his right hand, thumping it against the cement floor, the metal making a threatening _‘Ping! Ping!’_   “So look, I’ma get right to it.  What you and I had, it was a fuckin’ deal, nothing more.  We were supposed to keep it at that.  But no – now you wanna go and swing your dick around, jumping my family, trying to prove to daddy that you’re worth the Giovanni name?  Mistake…”

Just as Mickey trailed off, he took the end of the bat and police-rammed it into Carlo’s stomach, sending him doubling over with a loud grunt.  He grabbed his gut with both of his hands, his breathing labored from the force.  Mickey crouched down until he was eye-level with him.  He placed an index finger underneath Carlo’s chin, forcing it upwards so he would look at him.  Yet another mistake was made, because just like the dumbass he was, Carlo spat in Mickey’s face. 

“Fuck. You. Milkovich scum.”  Carlo’s delivery was slow and deliberate.  Mickey let out a maniacal laugh as he wiped the saliva from between his eyebrows, which always meant trouble.  A hit was one thing, but to spit in someone’s face?  That was considered a pussy move by his standards – anyone’s standards really.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” Mickey said just as he head-butted Carlo, breaking his nose. 

It was a chain reaction, because just like that, Iggy and Andy were at it and bloody shenanigans ensued.  The losers were drunk, so it didn’t take long to make quick work of them.  Andy knocked his guy out cold after about three, face crushing hits, screaming every obscenity available in his lexicon.  Iggy had his guy in a headlock just as Mickey slammed Carlo to the ground after a few punches, pressing his knee into his chest, making breathing almost impossible.  The Giovanni’s face was bloodied beyond recognition, but his pride was in far worse shape.

“Listen to me, and listen good,” Mickey said as he pressed his knee harder into Carlo’s chest.  His face was close to his, and he chuckled satisfyingly when he could see clearly the fucker was scared out of his mind.  He was known to always be a dog with all bark and no bite – a real bitch.  “This ends tonight!  So I’m gonna need you to stay the fuck away from my family, don’t even let the Milkovich name slide over your slimly little tongue.  Otherwise, I’ll tell daddy what a bitch you’re being on the outside, and you know he won’t like that.  You got me?!”

Carlo let out a muffled sound that sounded like a ‘yes’ right before Mickey took his knee off of his chest.  He grinned happily down at the squirming Giovanni, cracking his knuckles.  He hadn’t bashed a face in for what seemed like an eternity, so deep down, this felt good.  He missed it. 

“Good, we have an understanding then,” Mickey said just as Iggy stood and landed a boot into one of the cronies’ ribs.  “Otherwise, you’re a fuckin’ dead man.  Simple.”  He went to pick up his bat, simultaneously feeling a string of buzzes going off in his pocket.  He groaned inwardly, already knowing who it probably was.  He hadn’t spoken to Ian all day, and the kid was probably upset by now.  Another burst of buzzes went off – one after the other, after the other, after the other.  He was calling, not texting. 

There was an urgency to it.

Mickey missed the last string of calls, but not even a minute later, his phone started going off again.  He finally took out his phone, seeing Ian’s name light up his screen before removing himself out of the dugout to put some distance between himself, Iggy, and Andy.

“Ian,” he answered. 

There was no immediate answer on the other end of the line, only erratic breathing and a few grunts.  “Mick!” Ian finally responded breathless, “Where were you today?  I – I haven’t heard from you.  Everything’s fucked up!  Fuck…I… _shit_ …where are you?!”  He was clearly upset, his speech fast and broken, and Mickey felt himself start to panic slightly from the mere sound of his voice. 

“Slow down!” he said sternly into the receiver.  “Where are you?  Why do you sound like you just ran a marathon?”

“Took the L…ran the rest of the way here…I’m outside your door but no one’s here!”  A few loud breaths escaped Ian’s throat followed by a grunt.  “Please, I need to see you,” he pleaded.

Mickey froze, panic creeping up his spine.  _Fuck_.  Ian was at his house, which meant he had to get back there before anyone other than Mandy did.  “Stay put.  I’m on my way.”  Without hesitation, he took off, earning suspicious looks from Iggy and Andy.

“The fuck are you runnin’ off to?!” Iggy called out to his brother, “we ain’t finished here yet!”

“Fucking handle it!” Mickey called over his shoulder.  “I got an emergency!  Later!”

Without further adieu, Mickey quickened his pace and ran home, not even sure why he was running.  But for Ian, he didn’t need a reason really.

~~~

It felt like it took him forever to get home, but finally, Mickey found himself bolting up his front steps to find an erratic Ian sitting on the top one.  His knees were to his chest, his face wet and red.  His breathing was wild, and when he got close enough, Mickey could see he was hysterical about something.  He had yet to look up at him, his eyes instead fixed in front of him.  Mickey lowered himself down next to him, carefully, sure to not stir him up any more than he currently was.

“Ian,” he said softly, placing a hand on one of his bent knees, “look at me.  What happened?”

Shaking his head as if in disbelief about something, the younger boy finally turned and looked at Mickey, his eyes wide and wet with tears.  “I should have been nicer,” he said.  This didn’t make any sense to Mickey.

“I’m sorry, what?  I’m not following you Ian,” Mickey continued, “try to calm down, tell me what happened.”  Ian then reached a hand out, grabbing the bottom of Mickey’s hoodie, twisting the fabric in his fist as if afraid he would get up and leave him.  “It’s ok, I’m right here,” Mickey assured him, “I’m not going anywhere.  What happened?”

Ian’s breathing finally steadied after Mickey assured him he was going to be right there.  He fixed his eyes on Mickey’s, his lip trembling slightly as he fought to get the words out.  He swallowed, before making another attempt, finally being able to speak.

“It’s Monica,” he finally let out.

Call it intuition, but Mickey already knew what he was going to say, before he even said it.

////////////////////////////////

So Monica succeeded this time.

Ian told Mickey she did it with sleeping pills the second go-round, having done her research, getting the dose _just_ right.  It was less of a spectacle this way, and no one would grow suspicious of a seemingly, sleeping woman.  Blood drew too much attention.  At least this way, no scars would be left – at least no visible ones on her. 

The same couldn’t be said about the internal ones that would be left on her family.

She’d left a note underneath her pillow, apologizing to her children about both of her illnesses.  She didn’t want to wither away to virtually nothing, the cancer slowly chewing away at her, while her mind fared no better from the imbalances she was born with.  _“It’s better this way,”_ she’d written.  But death is never better.

Of course Ian felt guilty, blaming himself for being insensitive to her.  It took Mickey almost two hours that night to convince him he wasn’t at fault, until he finally fell asleep with his face buried in his neck, lines of dried tears painting Mickey’s collarbone.  How could everything be so fucked in one week?

Then again, this was a culmination of their lives.

So as they stood on the damp cemetery ground, Mickey couldn’t help but smite the irony of how death managed to unite everyone, yet tear them apart individually, simultaneously.  Here they all were, broken pieces brought together in one big, damaged heap.  It was sad.  But death was supposed to be.

The funeral wasn’t long.  Mickey watched as Ian’s sisters cried, his younger brother Carl stood with his face fixed in a frown, and the youngest Liam, too young to fully understand what was happening but well aware that it was sadness around.  Eventually he cried too when Fiona’s silent tears turned to audible sobs.  Jimmy comforted her, or tried to, afraid being pregnant would make her emotions worse.  Ian stood, stoic and unmoving.  It actually scared Mickey a bit, given the emotional mess he was days ago.  Perhaps he was all cried out.  Mickey stood next to him the entire time.

“Ready?” Mandy’s voice fell softly from behind him.  Mickey turned around, not realizing he was in a bit of a daze after the family paid their last respects, throwing flowers on their mother’s casket.  Mickey never quite understood the whole flower thing – they would just rot and die down there eventually, like everything else.

“Um, yeah,” he said as he caught a visual of Ian walking away slowly with his hands in his pockets.  He stopped and turned to glance at Mickey, a faded smile on his lips.  Mickey jogged to catch up to his roommate.

“Thanks for coming,” Ian said when Mickey approached him.  Mandy eventually caught up to them as well, cursing lowly under her breath at how the mud was fucking up her only good pair of black dress shoes.

“You needed the support,” Mickey said as the three of them walked through the cemetery.  “I know how it feels to lose your mom, we both do,” he motioned between him and Mandy.

“So are you headed back home?” Mandy asked Ian, who seemed to have no interest in catching up with the rest of his family.  They were headed to the funeral car that brought them there.  Ian hated it, and thought riding fancy was such bullshit to go bury someone.  Why a beautiful car when death was anything but?

“There’s a repast there with other Gallaghers,” Ian said clearly uninterested, “but I don’t wanna go to that shit, I can’t stomach it.  I don’t have an appetite anyway.  I was hoping to hang with you guys actually.”

Mandy beamed at this idea.  “That would be awesome actually,” she grinned, “being you and my brother go back to New York after your week leave tomorrow.”

“You should spend it with your family,” Mickey countered, earning a glare from Mandy.  She was on to him, and quite frankly, he was too tired to care.  Although it was no secret between them that him and Ian were – together – Mickey was still uncomfortable having him around his brothers who weren’t so aware.

“Christ Mickey,” Mandy blurted, “are you still scared to have him around Iggy and Colin?  Those two boneheads won’t suspect anything.  Ian’s your roommate from college whose mom just died.”

Even if Mandy was right, Mickey still didn’t want to chance it.  He still needed time to get acclimated to what they had being beyond the confines of their dorm room.  “That’s not it,” Mickey defended as they continued to walk, Ian obviously having no intentions to stop following them.  “It’s – “  Mickey suddenly grew silent, cutting himself off as he halted his movement.

They were back where they were earlier, by the Milkovich family plots.  Mandy’s face grew worried, when she noticed Mickey’s eyes zero in almost instantly on the same headstone that froze him earlier.  She could see his hands begin to form fists as his lips pressed tightly in a dismal line.  It was _anger_ this time.  His eyes scanned over the name on the headstone over and over, and something in him broke as the name seemed to torment him.

_Vladimir Milkovich_

_1964 - 2008_

_Beloved Father, Brother, Uncle._

Mickey snapped.  _Such beloved lies._

In the blink of an eye, Mickey flew towards the headstone, kicking his boots erratically against it, spitting and cursing.  _“Fuck…you…you…son-of-a-bitch!”_ he wailed.  _“Monster!  Beloved?  I..fucking…hate…you!”_ he continued between kicks.  All of the emotions from the week – from his entire life – came pouring out.

Mandy and Ian stood shocked, not sure what to do.  Taking her chances first, feeling she was the strongest out of the three of them at the moment, Mandy walked up behind her brother slowly, placing her hand on his shoulder to try and calm him.  Not wanting the gesture, Mickey flung her hand off of his shoulder as he continued to scream profanities.  Mandy was certain if he kicked any harder, the headstone would topple over.  She backed away, knowing that when her brother got this upset, he would swing at anyone and anything.

Not relenting one bit, Mickey dropped to his knees, still cursing and spitting at the name carved in the stone.  “Fuck you!” he screamed, this time landing his fist repeatedly into the rock.  “I was only a kid!”  He struck it over and over, his knuckles eventually bleeding, skin tearing as he landed punch after punch.  It had to be painful, but he clearly was too far gone to care – or feel it.  He landed another hit that must have been a hard one, because Mickey wailed in pain, drawing it back, looking at the blood and busted skin only briefly before going right back to it.  Bone cracking punch, after bone cracking punch.

Not being able to watch him hurt himself like this anymore, Ian stepped in, dropping to his knees behind his roommate.  He wrapped his long arms around Mickey’s, stopping him mid-blow.  Of course he protested, yelling for him to get the fuck off him.  At this point, tears were streaming down his face as he screamed towards the sky.  He began to shake uncontrollably as he cried, Ian tightening his grip around him as he held him, steadied him – refusing to let go.

“It’s ok,” he whispered into Mickey’s ear as he continued to wail.  “Let it out – let it _all_ out.  I’m right here.  He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Mickey began to calm down from the sound of Ian’s words, his chest heaving less.  He let out a few more moans as he cried out years of abuse, of being ashamed – of being trapped.  His shaking began to subside as Ian began to stroke through his black hair with one hand as he continued to hold him with the other.  Mandy stood and watched them, wiping away her own tears from her eyes. 

A few minutes passed as the two boys remained on the ground, Ian sitting on his heels as Mickey rested his back into his chest.  The older boy glanced down at his hand finally, the pain seeming to register as he winced.  “I’m sorry,” Mickey choked out, “we were her for your mom and I cracked.”

“No apologies,” Ian said as he continued to stroke Mickey’s hair.

They grew silent for a few more minutes, Ian looking at the headstone of Mickey’s Uncle.  It was decorated with bloody fist prints.  Mickey suddenly placed his hand on Ian’s that was over his chest, exhaling as he closed his eyes.  “Don’t let go,” Mickey breathed out this time.

“I don’t intend to,” Ian responded, “ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Wipes brow* This was a ROUGH one. I had the content outlined, only to be displeased with the way I was writing it, which resulted in three rewrites (and maybe one melt down). Nevertheless, I finished it! I hope it was worth the wait. I originally titled this chapter "Danse Macabre" due to death essentially bringing them together, and due to the two deaths that took place in this chapter - Monica, and the stronghold Vladimir still had on Mickey. Both laid to rest. So this is the true start of their catharsis and continued healing I would say. I killed Monica, I'm sorry, but I did it for fic purposes. Don't hate me! There are about two more chapters for this fic (if I follow my outline), so it's ending soon. As usual, thanks for reading and sticking by me with this for sooooo long. Love you all. <3<3<3
> 
> penprowess.tumblr.com


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